


The Mark

by EliseCollier



Series: Games That Take Me and Erase Me [1]
Category: Jurassic World (2015)
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, F/M, Friendship, Guilt, Humor, Jealousy, Originally Posted on FanFiction.Net, Sports, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-31
Updated: 2018-01-06
Packaged: 2019-02-24 11:32:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 57,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13212846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EliseCollier/pseuds/EliseCollier
Summary: Derek sighed, "My proposition is her." Owen wrinkled his brow. "A wager. Who can sleep with her first." Owen laughed, "What makes you think I'd be interested in her?" "The challenge...and the terms of the wager." - Jurassic World has a new Senior Assets Manager, and Owen Grady gets an offer he can't refuse. He struggles to grapple with the unintended but not unhappy consequences.





	1. Poachers

Owen Grady and Derek Fernandez sat across from each other in a booth at Sunrio, eyeing each other suspiciously while drinking tequila. They had been frenemies for over a year after chasing the same woman and getting played by her. When they happened to be lonely or hard up at the same time, they made great wingmen for each other. This often quickly turned into a rivalry. They were both very attractive and arrogant. In another setting, they might have been best friends. On the small island, however, the pickings could be slim, and gossip sometimes traveled at the speed of light.

Prior to this evening, they hadn't spoken in almost two months after Derek "stole" a woman named Lara from Owen. Owen was well aware that Lara made her own choice, but he saw her first and had been wooing her slowly for several weeks before Derek literally swooped in on the company jet to take her to a conference in New York. Owen never moved fast with women, and Derek was the opposite. Consequently, Derek got laid more and never missed an opportunity to rub it in the other man's face. Owen always felt that patience was a virtue, but the main reason for taking it slow was his cynicism about people. Most people - men and women alike - disappointed Owen. He'd seen too much death and destruction, lies and betrayals to trust others' motives. This was the chief source of his arrogance. He felt above most people. It took a lot to earn his respect.

Derek texted Owen earlier that day asking to meet after work. Owen was still licking his wounds from Lara and had been putting in extra hours at the raptor paddock, the one place he consistently enjoyed wholeheartedly. He agreed to meet Derek because he presumed it meant that things were over with Lara. Owen was looking forward to gloating and telling Derek that he would have done a better job with her. After exchanging a few macho but friendly jibes and complaining about petty things in island life, Derek addressed the elephant in the room.

"Look, Owen, I'm really sorry about the whole Lara thing, but...you dodged a bullet. She is a clingy psycho." Derek's eye contact wavered.

Owen grinned smugly, "You just weren't man enough for her. Admit it. She dumped your ass."

"It was a mutual parting of the ways." One side of Derek's mouth curled up deviously. "Go ahead and pursue her again. She's all yours."

"I'm not interested in your sloppy seconds."

"Are you seeing anyone right now?"

"No. Work has me busy enough."

Derek groaned and rolled his eyes, "AKA, no one good enough for you...at least until you break down and slum it."

Owen shot him a nasty glare before taking a drink. "What about you?" he asked knowingly. Derek sighed, "I'm so bored with the women here." Owen shook his head then asked, "So why did you ask to meet? If it was just to extend an olive branch, then you should've paid for my drink." Derek cleared his throat, "I have a proposition." He smiled like the Cheshire Cat. Owen was unnerved and waited for him to continue. "Did you read your employee email today?" Owen stifled a laugh. "Of course not. You never do. Well, Masrani announced the next Senior Assets Manager. She'll be arriving on the island next week."

"She?" Owen's eyebrows perked up.

"Yup. The first woman in charge of Jurassic World." Derek took a sip and leaned back in the booth. "And I know her."

"Do tell."

"Her name is Claire Dearing. She was at Wharton while I was at Penn Law. I haven't seen her for ten years, but, apparently, she's been a hot shit operations manager at Disney World. I asked around about it. Masrani poached her from Disney - a major coup. She's been very demanding but is getting whatever she wants, including bringing along several people from her own team." Derek smiled and groaned contently. "I always wanted to tap that."

"Then why didn't you?"

"Bro code. She broke my buddy's heart."

"Statute of limitations has run out, I guess?"

"Absolutely. I haven't seen Leo in a long time." Owen was getting frustrated and didn't know where this was all going. He looked at his watch in an exaggerated manner. Derek sighed, "My proposition is her." Owen wrinkled his brow. "A wager. Who can sleep with her first." Owen laughed, "What makes you think I'd be interested in her?"

"The challenge...and the terms of the wager."

"Which are?"

"Well, it honestly should be enough that you would get her in bed before me." Owen shook his head dismissively. Derek rolled his eyes, "If you nail her first, I'll never poach from you again." Owen was suddenly interested in the terms but wary when he asked, "And if you nail her first?"

"You let me bring a date to the raptor paddock." Owen slapped his palms on the table and sniggered. Derek had been making this request of him since they'd met. Owen always refused, insistent that the raptors were a private research venture and not a park attraction. Derek was convinced that it would be a huge turn-on and, on multiple occasions, expressed his exasperation that Owen never used the raptors to bag women.

"You are never going to let that go, are you?" Owen was trying to lighten the atmosphere. He was genuinely intrigued but also angry over Derek's obvious smugness. It was clear that Derek assumed he would win this bet. He was challenging Owen to take him on directly to finally be able to get what he always wanted out of their "friendship." Owen fumed silently.

Derek laughed at his reticence and finally declared, "I'm going after her regardless."

"What makes you so confident she'll go for you?" Owen was defensive.

"I'm me. I'm her type."

"You haven't seen her in ten years, and you know you're her type?"

"People don't change that much. Leo told me plenty back in the day."

"Like what?"

"Daddy issues."

"Your friend might've just been lashing out and smearing her after she broke his heart." With this remark, Owen detected a crack in Derek's confidence or maybe it was something sinister. He knew him well enough to notice it. "Why do you need the added motivation of competition with me if you think she'll succumb so easily?" Derek breathed out but didn't immediately respond. "Spill."

"Leo never actually dated her. She supposedly had a boyfriend back home in Wisconsin. It didn't stop Leo from pursuing her."

"I can see why you two were friends..."

"Leo figured she was lying to protect herself. She never talked about the boyfriend and was hanging out with Leo all the time."

"Lawyers..."

"Actually, Leo was a psychiatry resident. When he finally told her he wanted to be more than friends, she cut him out of her life entirely. Leo spiraled into depression, grew a mountain man beard, and rebuffed this cute medical student who asked him out." Owen responded shrewdly, "This is revenge."

"Maybe," Derek said while avoiding eye contact.

"I don't think I wanna be part of that."

"Just think about it. Worst case, we both end up in the friend zone with the Senior Assets Manager. Not a bad deal."

"Um, no, actually. Worst case scenario, she finds out about the wager and we're black-balled by the Senior Assets Manager." Owen was unnerved by the other man's nonchalance.

"She won't find out," Derek scoffed. "We're not really friends anyway. Rules of the game would be that we wouldn't talk to each other about our progress. We'd only spill when the deed was done." He could tell that Owen was still undecided. "Look her up. She's beautiful, smart, and a real shark. It'd be a lot of fun. Let me know." With that, Derek took the last swig of his drink and left the bar.

As Owen drove back to his bungalow, he thought about the wager. Claire Dearing wouldn't be the typical skirt that either of them chased. She would be a much more difficult target. She might even reject them both outright. Owen opened his company email as soon as he got home. Masrani's announcement included a short biography and recent photograph of the new Senior Assets Manager. A redhead, he mused, not usually his type. Nice smile. Green eyes. It was difficult to say much about her figure or height from the waist-up-only picture. Per the biography, University of Wisconsin undergrad then top of her class at Wharton. "Ms. Dearing" went immediately to Disney after business school and rose up the ranks. She was operations manager for Animal Kingdom for two years before landing the "crown jewel," the Magic Kingdom, for the preceding three years. At least she'd have some experience with living things, Owen thought. The biography ended with various, impressive accomplishments at Disney. It didn't include any personal information. Owen sighed but recognized that he shouldn't have expected something akin to a Match or eHarmony profile.

He wondered if this was a game he wanted to play. Was he really the type of guy to do such a thing? It could be fun but also cruel. Owen went over the pros and cons in his head. The idea of getting one over on Derek was honestly incentive enough, and the guarantee that he was promising was almost an offer Owen couldn't refuse. His confidence wavered. Could he beat Derek at this game? If he lost, could he face that humiliation on top of allowing Derek's long-held request? As he pondered the wager, Owen also wrestled with more unsettling questions. Is Claire Dearing someone he would pursue de novo? In terms of class and achievements, she was clearly head and shoulders above all the women he'd ever dated. He was admittedly intrigued by her success in a man's world. Derek was right about her being beautiful, but Claire didn't seem like a woman who would've slept her way to the top. Owen decided that he needed to meet her before agreeing to this wager. If she was someone he'd pursue independently, he was sure as shit not letting Derek get to her first.

Derek texted Owen several times over the next few days. It started out with Derek just asking about "The Mark" and escalated to his insisting that Owen was afraid to compete with him. Owen wasn't so easily ruffled and chose not to respond. He did, however, worry that he wouldn't have a chance to meet Claire Dearing until after she and Derek reconnected. Derek worked in the administrative offices near the control floor and would have much easier access to her. Owen normally enjoyed the isolation of the raptor paddock, both in terms of its geographical separation and his being an InGen employee without oversight from Jurassic World staff. This isolation now frustrated him for the first time in almost two years. He questioned when he would have an occasion to interact with Claire Dearing. Derek could probably finagle her exact schedule through his various operations insiders. Owen had a friend in control who could give him a significant advantage, but he really didn't want to play that card...if he decided to play this game at all.

Owen was in a Catch 22 situation with the wager. To refuse might be interpreted as cowardice and Derek winning by his forfeit. Whether or not Claire Dearing actually succumbed to Derek would be moot - he'd be besting Owen regardless. On the other hand, accepting the wager meant more work than he typically put into a courtship and for the wrong reasons. He needed to justify accepting for the right reasons. Claire was currently just a trophy in his head, a mythical prize to be won. Unfortunately for Owen, meeting her might not fully disentangle the right from the wrong. He foresaw second-guessing his motives even if he found her to be wildly alluring. Then again, Owen rarely found any woman he met to be wildly alluring. That kind of rarity would be hard to pass up.

* * *

 

Early September was the beginning of the off season for the park. The resort was at less than 50% capacity, and the smaller, less commercial eateries and bars were virtual ghost towns in the evenings. It was the only time of year Owen liked hanging out on Main Street. He found himself wandering there one night after work, lost in his thoughts about Claire Dearing. She hadn't started working on the island to his knowledge, and her arrival was honestly making him anxious. He decided to self-medicate at a bar that was almost exclusively an employee hang-out this time of year. It was not uncommon to hear Tejano blasting from the speakers while raucous games of pool went on later than last call. It reminded him of his hometown in Texas and various good times during his Naval career.

The bar was even quieter than usual. No Tejano was emanating from the back room, but Owen heard the pleasant, measured smacking of billiard balls against each other and the cushions. He ordered a Corona and chatted with the bartender about the off-season slow-down. Owen commented on the atmosphere being "relaxed." The bartender laughed, "Ironically, I think everyone here is feeling the opposite...given the private game in the back." He nodded toward the open door to the billiards room, and Owen rotated his stool. He took a sip of his beer and promptly almost spit it out when he saw the redhead moving around the pool table to set up her shot. He was staring and had absolutely no shame about it. He couldn't blink. Claire Dearing, in the flesh, wearing a pale green camisole, fitted navy blue slacks, black pumps, and a gold belt. She looked intensely focused on her shot. Her pumps gave her extra height, so she didn't have to lean as far over the table. Owen mused that he would enjoy seeing her more bent over the table. He heard the sound of the ball dropping in the pocket but noticed that Claire's face didn't change. She didn't smile with satisfaction or victory - she knew she would sink it. She straightened her body in a steady, controlled fashion and rubbed chalk on the end of her cue while maintaining her focus on the table. She was planning her next shot. Owen finally blinked when she moved around the table and out of his view. Damn, he thought to himself.

Owen took his bottle and walked to the billiards room. He stopped in the doorway and watched her again. Claire's back was towards him, and her camisole hiked up slightly as she leaned into her shot. Her skin was pale, porcelain and spotless without any visible tattoos or the faintest hint of a tan. How had she lived in Orlando for years and not have a tan? Owen wondered if she was some sort of shut-in or workaholic who never went outside. He was staring again, this time at her tight ass. He waited for her to sink her shot then said emphatically in a teasing tone, "Hey, princess." Without skipping a beat or motioning toward him, Claire answered, "As if I haven't heard that one about a hundred times." She straightened up and turned to face him, leaning against her cue. One side of her mouth curled up, and Owen was convinced he saw a twinkle in her eye as she looked him up and down. Claire sharpened her gaze and cocked her head slightly to one side, "Do you work for me?" Owen smirked, "Nope." She shook her head then moved around the table to set up her next shot.

"You don't look like a guest," she said without making eye contact as she considered the geometry on the table. Out of the corner of his eye, Owen saw a deep purple blouse resting on the back of a chair. The small table in the room had a glass of clear liquid and a long black case resting on top of it.

"I'm not a guest. I'm with InGen. Research."

"Oh," Claire suddenly perked up and looked at him with surprise or, perhaps, delight - Owen hoped. "That's fortunate," she said softly and under her breath before leaning in for her next shot. Owen furrowed his brow and inspected the full rack of cues on the wall. He walked toward the rack and waited again for her to sink her shot before asking, "Is that your own, personal cue?"

"Of course," she scoffed without any humor in her voice, "I only put my hands on the best equipment." Owen mouthed a long, silent "oooooh." She smiled at him while preparing to hit the eight ball. Claire seemed to be putting on more of a show with her calculated movements now compared to when he was watching her from the bar. It was incredibly sexy. Owen focused his energy on not grinning like a maniac. When she sunk the eight ball, she smiled at him contentedly then almost brushed against him as she walked toward the table with her things. Owen could smell vanilla on her and had to close his eyes to re-center himself. She eyed him suspiciously as she took a long drink from her glass.

"Did you want to play?" Claire asked somewhat tauntingly.

"Are you leaving?" He answered playfully.

"Do you want me to?"

"No." His voice was soft; his stare unflinching. She shrugged her shoulders slightly, giving nothing away as she walked back toward the pool table.

"Solids or stripes?" She asked while retrieving the triangle rack.

"Ladies choice." He said, emptying the pockets and rolling the balls toward her.

"You get stripes then." Her gaze was piercing and sultry. Owen was feeling increasingly warm. He had to break their eye contact and looked toward the cue rack on the wall.

"Do I have to use one of these bum cues or do you have an extra?" He teased. Claire laughed, "I'll grant you a handicap." Owen feigned offense then raised one eyebrow, "I don't need that. My hands are skillful regardless." He was turning on his best smolder and charm. Claire seemed amused but otherwise unfazed. That was annoying to him. Owen was right to think she'd be more work for him. She lifted the ball rack off the table.

"Show me what you got," she demanded gently. "Break."

"Let's make this a little more challenging - if you can handle it."

"Numerical order?" When he nodded, she rolled her eyes saying, "You just want to make this last longer."

"I'm always capable of that," he smiled devilishly while chalking his cue. Claire chuckled softly then took a sip from her glass. As Owen set up his break shot, she purposefully leaned against the opposite end of the table so that her cleavage was in his line of sight. He pretended not to notice.

They took turns moving around each other and the table in silence, sometimes sinking shots, sometimes not. Neither of them tried to deliberately distract the other. Claire's very presence was distracting enough to Owen. He tried his best to focus on the billiards game and not the other, more personal game they were playing with each other. He caught her glancing at him every now and then. That made him feel better. At one point, Claire announced needing a refill of her glass and headed toward the bar.

"You trust me not to cheat?" he teased. Claire didn't turn when she called back, "I'm taking a leap of faith, stranger." It was only then that Owen realized he never introduced himself. He suddenly felt like a shit. She returned with a full glass and leaned against the doorframe to watch Owen pick his shot.

"Do you need the bridge?" she taunted. She was finally making him nervous. He ignored her question, took his shot, and scratched.

"Damnit," Owen huffed under his breath. Claire didn't gloat or laugh. She calmly put down her glass and removed the cue ball from the pocket. He walked over to the small table and sniffed her drink, "Water or gin?" Claire smiled widely while setting up her next shot, "It was gin, but I need to drive home so I switched to water."

"Pool and gin," he mused. "I wouldn't have pegged Claire Dearing as such a Paul Newman type." She sunk her shot - her last necessary before taking a crack at the eight ball - then leaned back against the table to regard him carefully. Owen stood still next to her glass and maintained her gaze.

"So," she said coolly as she walked toward him, "Are you ever going to tell me your name or should I just start calling you 'Sundance'?" Claire stopped just inches away from him and raised an eyebrow. Owen remained silent. They maintained eye contact as she reached around him for her glass. Her forearm brushed against his briefly. The sensation gave him goosebumps. His pants felt tighter, and Owen hoped she didn't notice. He cleared his throat, "Owen Grady." His voice was thick and gravelly. Claire took a sip from her glass then slammed it down forcefully. She smiled at his startle reaction before turning on her heel toward the pool table. Owen was done. His concentration was fully broken. He hoped she sunk the eight so he didn't have another opportunity to embarrass himself. Claire didn't disappoint him. Her concentration was still spot-on. It was annoying and enticing at the same time. She stood up and looked at him gleefully.

"You're a worthy adversary, Owen, but I think you should've taken that handicap."

"Re-match another time...Claire." He lingered over her name, and she smiled. He spotted a faint blush on her cheeks. Claire walked over to the small table, opened the latches on the case, and placed her cue inside. Owen put his own cue back on the rack. He watched as she - seductively, he thought - put on her blouse and buttoned it. She finished off the look by re-positioning her belt at her natural waist on top of the long blouse. Owen mused that his current level of exhaustion and satisfaction while watching a woman dress otherwise only occurred after having sex. The way she looked back at him made it almost feel as if they did just have sex. Claire picked up the case by its handle, and her eyes seemed to drop nervously toward her feet. It was adorable.

"No one's gonna mess with you on Main Street," he said, pointing to the case. "It looks like you're packing something else." Claire smiled, "I left THAT case at home tonight." Owen laughed, "Full of surprises, Claire." He liked the sound of her name on his lips. They stared at each other for an awkward moment before she looked away.

"See you around...Owen," she said before turning to leave. He watched her until she left the bar then sat on the edge of the pool table. He exhaled very slowly to calm his racing pulse. Owen took his phone out of his pocket and texted Derek, "I'm in."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading and please leave me some feedback :)


	2. The Queen Of Clubs

Owen didn't know, under the circumstances, what was the proper amount of time to wait before seeking out Claire. He didn't want to appear over-eager, but he knew Derek moved fast. Owen decided to give it at least five days and keep his ears open for gossip. Unsurprisingly, the whole island was buzzing about the "new sheriff in town" by the afternoon following their game of pool. Some of the ACU troopers heard she was a "real ball-buster." Derogatory remarks were made about Claire being a "woman on top." Others mocked her coming from Disney.

Owen chatted with Barry about Claire, in generality, one day over lunch. Barry was typically level-headed when judging others' character. He told Owen that the island could use a "woman's touch" and that there had been too much testosterone in the park's leadership for too long.

"Have you heard anything about her...as a person?" Owen asked hesitantly. Barry smirked, "Why? You interested in her?" Owen tried to minimize his defensiveness, "I'm curious."

"Sure," Barry responded with teasing sarcasm. "You, who doesn't pay attention to park announcements or go to meetings or events, you're suddenly just 'curious' about the new boss...who happens to be a very attractive woman." Barry rolled his eyes. He knew Owen too well after they'd worked together every day for the last year. Barry was very good at assessing the moods of the cagey animals and humans with whom he worked. Owen recruited him as a handler for the raptors after he realized that the project needed someone who had experience working with dangerous creatures. Barry previously handled unruly beasts, including lions and bears, for film and television. He was patient, kind, and easy-going. Owen and Barry didn't have a lot in common and didn't typically socialize outside of work, but their personalities and styles of management at the paddock complemented each other well. Owen could always rely on Barry's honesty, but sometimes - like today - it grated on him.

"Look, she's beautiful, alright?" Owen relented. He looked away from Barry and found himself rambling. "She's really accomplished at a young age and for a woman, so, yeah, I'm curious what brings her here, especially when she had a great gig stateside."

"I had a great gig stateside," Barry said matter-of-fact, "But I was tired of the hustle, the deadlines, the grind. I wanted something unique and challenging but with less pressure. Disney might've been turning the screws on her. But, then again, maybe that's just me projecting. For all I know, she slept with Masrani." Owen failed to hide his disgust and offense at Barry's insinuation. He was caught. Barry laughed, "It's good for you to aim high. I'm glad you're ready to move on from Lara."

Owen had told Barry about Lara right after she hooked up with Derek. Owen didn't usually talk about personal matters with Barry, but he'd been in an agitated state at the paddock that day, and Barry offered to buy a few rounds of drinks at Dave & Buster's. Barry was a skee-ball fanatic and spent a lot of his off-time racking up high scores there, or so Owen learned that night. Owen himself was terrible at skee-ball and even worse when intoxicated. Barry saw Derek and Lara at Dave & Buster's about a week after that and shared his assessment of them with Owen the following day. He called Derek "sleazy" and Lara "fake." Owen knew that Barry didn't just say it for his benefit, and he'd been more chummy with his co-worker ever since.

Before they headed back to work, Barry told him, "You have high standards. You don't take shit. You expect a lot. Someone like Claire Dearing is going to be similar. That could be a good...or bad thing for you." Owen had considered the same thing himself. He nodded and said quietly, "Don't tell anyone about this conversation." Barry put a hand on his shoulder and teased him good-naturedly, "I wouldn't dare, but I will keep you posted if I hear anything about her." He clapped Owen on the back and winked as he walked away from him. Barry's words echoed in Owen's head for the rest of the day. If it was a bad thing, he'd just fuck her and hope to win the bet. He didn't like where his mind went when he thought about it being a good thing.

On Sunday afternoon - five days after they played pool - Owen logged into his work email with the intention to look up Claire in the address book and see if there was a mobile number listed. If not, he planned to send her a mildly flirtatious email. He scanned through the emails that had accumulated since he last checked it, dating back to Masrani's announcement about her. Owen almost shit his pants when he saw an email - with a blank subject line - from Claire, dated the day after he met her. "Fuck," he said aloud while squeezing shut his eyes, as if he could unsee the message. His heart was pounding when he clicked on it. There was a single question: "Do you play golf, too?" No greeting, no closing, and no signature block. Owen briefly wondered if it was real. He brushed off the paranoia that Derek or someone else hacked her email and was messing with him. Despite its brevity, this was a fairly aggressive and eager move on her part. He didn't know whether he should be worried or relieved. After the shock and guilt about seeing the message four days late had passed, Owen felt gratified. He could win the bet. She might not be much work at all. He smiled to himself and considered his response. Owen replied, in kind, with brevity: "On occasion."

After hitting the send button, he scrolled through his other emails and then looked at Claire's public address book entry. He didn't receive any other messages that were interesting to him, and Claire's mobile number was not listed on her contact card. "Shit," he thought to himself while anxiously drumming his fingers on his thighs. Owen barely checked his work email every two weeks, and now he anticipated obsessively checking it every five minutes. He walked into his kitchen to get a drink and heard the ping of a new email. He rushed back to check the screen. Claire had responded: "You missed a chance this morning. How about this coming Saturday? Tee time is 0800."

Owen's eyebrows went up at her use of military time. He could make that, but he'd need a good set of clubs. He had a few random drivers lying around his property - undoubtedly warped by the sun and heat - for hitting balls into the lake every now and again. These would hardly suffice for 18 holes, and he didn't know of anyone who had a complete set. Owen answered: "Can I use your clubs? I know they'll be the best." This was fun, but he preferred to charm her in person - especially since he'd clearly made an impression the first time. It was satisfying to know that now, after being unconvinced about his effect on her when they were playing pool. Claire didn't take long to respond: "I'll find some good ones for you. No handicap required."

Owen wanted to see Claire sooner, but he didn't want to push it too much. He just wished he had her phone number for texting. He figured they'd, at least, have some more flirtatious email back and forth during the week. This was good, he thought. So what if it had been a few years since he played an entire game of golf? Monday at lunch, Owen drove over to the course to get his bearings. He gleaned as much additional information as he could from the park's website. He didn't think anyone on his staff at the raptor paddock was the golfing type, and he didn't want to ask around, lest people start asking him questions. Owen started checking his email at least three times a day. It paid off as he read Claire's follow-up email only an hour after she sent it on Wednesday afternoon: "I secured you a fine set of clubs. Do you prefer to use a golf cart or not?" Owen knew exactly how to respond: "Not. I want to make it last longer."

By the end of the work day Thursday, Claire hadn't responded. Owen was starting to feel insecure. He tried to brush it off by telling himself that she was probably very busy adjusting to the new job or she didn't feel flirting was appropriate over work email. He reassured himself that she sought him out for the golf game and an early Saturday tee time probably meant she wasn't going out with Derek or anyone else on Friday night. Owen had a couple of beers to relax, but they didn't help his mood. While repeatedly refreshing his inbox, he ruminated on the bet. He was bothered by some nagging questions and suddenly felt the urge to call Derek. Owen dialed the number with significant hesitation - he was nervous about being connected to Derek in any way during the period of the bet. As the phone was ringing, he wondered why he accepted at all but then imagined fucking Claire Dearing on a pool table to put his doubts to rest.

"Got her in bed so soon?" Derek answered tauntingly.

"No," Owen was irritated, "We need to talk out the rules of engagement."

Derek laughed, "Like what?"

"Like, are we just going to take each other at our word if we say we slept with her?"

"You don't trust me? You want to share photographic proof or something?"

Owen shuddered at the thought of seeing photos of Derek and Claire in flagrante. He groaned, "I guess I'll just have to trust you." He could almost hear the other man's eyes rolling through the phone. Derek scoffed, "What other 'rules of engagement' do we need?"

"What if she asks if we know each other?"

"She's not gonna talk to us about other guys she's seeing."

"Could you please take this seriously?" Owen's aggravation was increasing with each second. He rubbed his face with his free hand. Derek's initial nonchalance about this game seemed to have morphed into cold indifference. "I'm trying to foresee problems and prevent her from finding out about the bet."

"Ugh, fine. We say we know of each other, by reputation only."

"That doesn't sound suspicious at all," Owen responded sarcastically.

"I'd be smooth about it. I'll 'lawyer it' depending on if and how she brings you up to me. I'm not worried." He added with venom, "You clearly are."

"No actively trying to put her off the other one," Owen snapped.

Derek laughed, "So, that's what you're worried about. Well, I agree that we shouldn't say anything that might influence her, either way."

"Good. Now..." Owen's voiced trailed off. He could feel himself starting to sweat a bit then cleared his throat, "What if...one of us decides they want to pursue an actual relationship with her?" Derek seemed to howl with laughter, "If you developed feelings for Claire Dearing, that would make me want to bone her even more!"

"You're an asshole."

"I guess that's why we're not really friends." Derek composed himself and said seriously, "She's just a mark to me. I'm not going to fall for her. If you did...well, I guess I could take that into consideration." Owen rolled his eyes and resisted the impulse to ask Derek if he'd taken her out yet. Derek was silent for a few seconds then asked bluntly, "Are you actually concerned about that happening? I mean, I've never known you to tolerate the same woman for more than a month."

"No," Owen answered defensively, "I'm just thinking about complications for the bet."

"I don't know, Owen." Derek's tone shifted to full-on mocking. "Maybe you finally want to settle down, and she's your...true...love."

"Shut up." Owen realized that Derek was probably baiting him to reveal something about his progress with her.

"Any other 'rules of engagement' you want to discuss?" Derek sighed, "I tire of this conversation."

"That's it. I hope the next time we speak I'm gloating."

"We'll see about that." Derek hung up first. Owen couldn't wait to pull one over on the smug bastard.

* * *

Owen pulled into the clubhouse parking lot at 7:50 in the morning. He was running late after forgetting his baseball cap and having to double back to his trailer halfway to the course. Claire finally emailed him back late Friday with the succinct message that she'd check them in at the clubhouse at "0745." Owen had hoped to beat her there. So much for being smooth and punctual, he thought to himself. When he saw her emerge from the clubhouse doors carrying two folded golf bag carts, he chastised himself further for not being chivalrous. There were only a couple of cars in the lot, and Claire made it easy for him by popping the trunk of her Mercedes when he drove up.

"Very nice," she said with a grin as he got off his bike and put on his "NAVY" baseball cap. She, thankfully, didn't seem upset or impatient. Owen was a little nervous all the same and worked hard to hide that fact. "Would you help me with the bags?" Claire asked sweetly. Owen nodded and took in her cute fitted polo and khaki capris as she fully opened the car's trunk. Her Wisconsin Badgers cap was a nice touch. He was glad she wasn't wearing one of those hideous visors that women golfers seemed to be fond of.

"The green bag is mine," she smirked then seemed to pause for dramatic effect before adding, "the brown one is for you." As he set the bags on the carts, Owen teased, "I hope it wasn't too much trouble getting the clubs for me."

"Not too much," Claire said lightly. "I just had to agree to have dinner with someone." As she started pulling her bag toward the first hole, he noticed that his bag was embossed with "DF JD" in large, gold letters. Owen was thankful that she didn't witness his jaw drop. The warped drivers leaning against the tree next to his bungalow suddenly didn't seem like a bad option.

There was an awkward silence as they walked to the tee-box. Owen wasn't especially chatty at baseline but pulling Derek's clubs really threw him for a loop. He needed to not think about that. He was the one golfing with Claire, after all, and she didn't seem particularly thrilled to be having dinner with Derek either. He almost startled when she finally spoke, "I looked you up, by the way. I didn't think it was fair how you knew who I was when we met." She seemed nervous, and Owen relaxed.

"I see," he said in a flirtatious tone, "Did you level the playing field or take a deep dive into my biography?" Claire stammered, "I didn't take a 'deep dive.' I only wanted to scratch the surface."

"So, what did you learn?"

"You're the lead on the raptor project...Boston University undergrad...ROTC...and separated from the Navy two years ago as an O4 select." He could tell she knew what she was talking about when she chose those last few words. She wasn't just spitting back something she'd read online. "Why didn't you stay in for the promotion?"

"No one's asked me that since my exit interview." Owen sharpened his gaze at her. "I was never going to be a lifer...the Navy wouldn't support my going to grad school...and InGen made me a great offer. Why are you so curious about that?" They had reached the tee-box. Claire selected a club from her bag then looked at him, "My father retired from the Air Force as an O6." Owen smiled on the inside thinking about what Derek told him at Sunrio: daddy issues.

It didn't take Owen long to determine that he couldn't beat Claire at golf. Just as with their pool game, she was focused, confident and damn good. It wasn't as sexy as pool, but he still enjoyed watching her move. He was largely quiet for the first few holes, studying her club choices and shots. By the fifth hole, however, Claire started verbally and non-verbally critiquing his technique. She was relaxed about it, not harsh or judgmental, but it bruised his ego all the same.

"Can I adjust your stance?" she asked while moving toward him in the tee-box on the 6th.

"No, you may not," he responded with more agitation in his voice than he intended. It startled her and she backed off, looking wounded. Owen took his shot, but it didn't travel as well down the fairway as hers. He sighed audibly and looked back at her, but she was already walking toward their balls. Claire didn't say anything until they were walking to the 7th.

"We can stop at nine holes if this isn't fun for you," she said dejectedly while looking at the ground. Owen felt terrible. He didn't mean to hurt her feelings. He also realized that his behavior wasn't going to help him win the bet.

"I'm sorry, Claire, it's just been a long time," he said warmly. "And you're intimidating." He caught her blushing. It made him feel a lot better. Owen needed to get back into the mindset of trying to woo her. "Did you play a lot with your dad growing up?"

"Some," she said with a wistful smile. "More so, he instilled in me the idea that the line between work and leisure blurred on the golf course. It's where he hobnobbed with general officers and other VIPs for personal and professional benefit. When I realized in grad school how much business was conducted on the greens, that's when I really started getting into the game." Owen noticed that her countenance shifted to looking pensive, so he decided to tread carefully. When it was his turn at the tee-box, he turned to her, "Okay, adjust my stance." Claire looked absolutely delighted. She stood behind him, put her hands on his hips, and pushed his feet apart slightly. When he leaned forward to set up his shot, she put one hand on his torso and the other on his back to set his posture. Owen liked her hands on him and really wished he hadn't been such an ass on the 6th hole. They locked eyes for a sultry moment before she softly said, "Try it now," and stepped back. His power and accuracy were better. Claire looked even more pleased than him when she beamed, "Told you."

"I won't doubt you again." Owen still wasn't as good as her, and he lost some of his focus as he watched her during the next few holes. He wanted her hands back on him. He struggled mightily on the treacherous par five 11th hole and ended up deep in the rough.

"I don't think this is how you want to make it last longer," she taunted.

"Shut up," he said playfully while picking his club. Claire cleared her throat and lightly tugged up on the pitching wedge. "This one, huh?"

"Yeah," she smirked, "That's what you want."

"It's not the only thing." Owen suddenly wished they'd stopped playing after nine holes. She clicked her tongue and backed away to allow him to take his shot. She wanted him to take this seriously. It was important to her, and he didn't want to disappoint her.

As they moved on to the 12th hole, Owen decided to resume their earlier conversation, "Have you reaped personal and professional benefits from your golf game?" Claire laughed, "Professional benefits for sure, but it actually made me quite unpopular with female colleagues. Most of the women in my MBA class viewed it as below them to develop hobbies to fit in better with the business world. They thought the business world should change for them, not the other way around." She paused and shook her head dismissively, "Idiots. You gotta get to the table first...before things can change."

"So, you got to the table while they were left behind and jealous."

"Pretty much." She smiled at him appreciatively. "They were hypocrites, too. They were the same women who would pretend to be something they weren't or feign interest in stuff for a guy. I never understood that."

"You're probably just more honest than most people." He meant to compliment her and was surprised that this elicited a laugh.

"I'm a terrible actress, so I have to believe in what I'm doing." She avoided his gaze. Owen wondered if she didn't like how serious the conversation was getting. He was a little uncomfortable with it himself, given that it was only the second time they'd seen each other and so early on a Saturday. It was also bad for his focus on the bet.

Claire was quiet again for the next few holes but still non-verbally expressing dissatisfaction with his game. He took it in stride and reveled in the moments he'd catch her checking him out. Her patience apparently wore too thin by the 16th.

"Stop," she said, shaking her head. "There are two water hazards on this hole. We need to correct your swing or you'll end up in the drink." Owen put his hands in the air in mock defeat. She regarded him carefully as she circled him. "There's no way I can reach around you to guide the swing, so...you'll have to reach around me." His eyes widened. Claire continued with sincerity, "You need to feel it." She put her hand out for his club, and he passed it to her without breaking eye contact. She positioned herself in the tee-box and said, "Now, hug your body to mine and put your hands on top of mine on the club." Owen hesitated for a moment as his pulse and breathing quickened. After he did as she instructed, their faces were practically touching. Claire spoke just above a whisper, "Close your eyes and relax. Let me guide you. Just...feel it." He stifled a chuckle as his mind considered other settings for her to be using those same words with him. She moved slowly at first through a practice swing, then quickly swung again closer to maximum speed. "Can you feel it now?" she asked breathily. Owen swallowed. The full length of their bodies and limbs were pressed tightly together. He felt all his nerve endings on fire and practically choked on his words, "Yeah, I do."

"Good," Claire suddenly pulled away and held out the club to him. "Now, show me." Owen felt like he was moving in slow motion as he took back his club and tried to refocus. If she felt that heat between them, her expression didn't show it. He couldn't decide what was sexier, her doing that to him on purpose or her being so naive that she didn't realize her effect on him. Claire turned her eyes to the fairway as he took his shot. His ball landed very close to hers, and he grinned in satisfaction. She looked back at him and winked before walking toward the path. Owen's knees practically buckled.

Claire finally spoke when they were setting up their second shots, "They call this hole the Mos-"

"Mosasaurus Mouth," he cut her off. "I know, Claire. I didn't come here completely unprepared. And, I've lived here for almost two years." He saw her roll her eyes and sigh before taking her shot. Her focus wasn't broken. Her ball landed on the green.

"Prove that last one wasn't a fluke," she taunted while resting her club across her shoulders.

"It'll be your fault if I don't make this," he smirked. "A student is only as good as his teacher."

"Stop trying to make this last even longer. I don't want to burn under the high sun." Owen laughed before hitting his ball onto the green. He hummed happily as he led them down the path.

To his surprise, Owen maintained his focus over the final two holes. Claire seemed impressed, if nothing else. He still felt very affected by her. Despite spending three hours together, he wanted more. He wasn't even thinking about the bet. Owen turned to smile at her, but she suddenly winced and looked at her watch.

"Somewhere you gotta be?" he asked with a sigh.

"Control," she replied. "I'm still learning this job."

"Gotta stay humble, I guess...after you bested me at pool and golf."

"You know I wasn't keeping score today."

"No need," Owen laughed, "There was no competition. How about next time, we avoid competitive sports?" She blushed and looked down, "I'm glad you want a 'next time.'" Her insecurity was unexpected and endearing.

"What are you doing tonight?" he asked hopefully. Claire motioned toward his golf bag, "That dinner I agreed to." Owen's face fell. The bet was front and center once again. "But," she stammered, "do you watch football?"

"Which football?" he asked with a raised eyebrow. She scoffed, "There is only one football, and it does NOT involve skinny, advertisement-clad snobs prancing around for 90 minutes to score one or two points."

"Tell me how you REALLY feel about soccer, Claire." They laughed. "Who's your team?"

"Should be pretty obvious," she said as she tipped her baseball cap. "They start at 1425 tomorrow. You...wanna watch with me?"

"Sure. Your place?" She nodded. "Where do you live?" They were standing near her car in the parking lot. She pointed to the road that ran between the golf course and the bamboo forest, "At the end of the road...in a cottage near the cliffs." Owen wondered if this had been one of her demands when accepting Senior Assets Manager - he never heard of any buildings down that secluded road. It excited him. He loaded the golf bags in her trunk while she returned the carts to the clubhouse. Claire looked at her watch again, and Owen could tell she was anxious, her mind elsewhere. His mind was on her dinner with "DF JD."

"Before you get back to work," he asked nervously, "Your phone number?"

"Can I email it to you from my office?" she said while hurriedly opening her car door. He nodded - what else could he do? She smiled before getting inside and practically peeling out. He knew she wasn't escaping him, but it still didn't feel great. Owen decided to go to the paddock and distract himself from thoughts about Claire...on a date with Derek.

Owen checked his work email around 7pm. There was a message - blank subject line, time-stamped 5:06pm - from Claire: "I'm sorry I left in a rush. I had a really good time today. My number is 407-934-8765." He took a deep breath and considered texting her. He decided against it as a possible breach of the rules of engagement. It was going to be a restless night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Deepest apologies to soccer fans around the world - Claire has strong opinions. I meant to leave readers feeling in the same state as Owen at the end of this chapter. Let me know what you think.


	3. Unpacking

Owen waited until noon on Sunday to text Claire: "Do you need me to bring anything?" He slept poorly and was seething with bitterness over her dinner with Derek. He never imagined it would feel this way when he accepted the bet. It didn't take Claire long to respond: "I only drink Michelob Ultra, so bring your own beer if you want something else." Owen was surprised that Claire drank beer at all, let alone in the afternoon. He decided to endear himself to her by also drinking her beer of choice. In the meantime, he needed to calm down so as not to appear upset with her.

It was a peaceful drive to Claire's house. The small cottage was practically perched on the southwestern cliffs of the island. The building didn't look new, but it didn't look worn down. When he pulled the key out of his bike, Owen fought the urge to tour the grounds, curious about her view of the ocean. It was soothing to hear the crashing waves below. He figured she heard him drive up - the engine upsetting the relative silence.

Before he could knock on the door, Claire opened it. She was wearing a Green Bay Packers Brett Favre #4 jersey and glasses. Her phone was pressed to her ear, and she looked annoyed as she listened to a shrill voice on the other end. She motioned him inside then noticed his shirt and shook her head with a small smile. Owen wore a Dallas Cowboys t-shirt. Claire shut the door after he entered, leaned her back against it, and launched into an angry phone exchange. Owen chuckled while he eavesdropped on the call and walked to her fridge for a beer.

Claire's tone was firm and patronizing: "Zara, this has been our deal for three years...I don't give a shit if Alec is here, that's never mattered before...Maybe I do...Does it matter if it is?...Don't act so surprised...I have every right...What's wrong with that?...You know my schedule, I don't have to share further details...I'm forwarding the calls starting now...It's only a few hours, then I'll be working in my office...Fine...See you tomorrow." She exhaled loudly after hanging up the call. Claire typed furiously before putting the phone in a cabinet. She turned toward Owen, "I'm sorry. My assistant always takes my calls during Packers games. I don't tolerate interruptions." She paused and looked down. "I'm a little intense about it."

Owen found that intensity adorable and smiled at her, "I'm glad you won't be on your phone while I'm here."

"I've made a conscious effort so far, Owen." She seemed slightly defensive. Owen hadn't thought about it before but now realized that he'd never seen her phone until today. That was probably a big sacrifice for her. He relaxed and let any residual anger dissolve.

"You need a beer," he declared. "Where's your bottle opener?" She grinned broadly before opening a drawer and passing him a metal opener. Owen opened the bottle he was holding and passed it to her, "Ladies first." She laughed and then asked sweetly, "Can you please take off your shoes?" He nodded as he opened his own beer bottle, and she went to sit on the sofa. Owen glanced around her living area after leaving his shoes near her front door. The walls were bare, but it was friendly. There were French doors to a covered patio and multiple built-in bookcases that Claire had already started filling with picture frames and knick knacks. She was sitting on one end of the three-seat sofa, so he took his place on the opposite end.

"Do I have to be quiet while you watch?" he teased.

"No," she smirked, "I like your company." They locked eyes for a moment, and Owen considered moving closer to her. "You might not like mine by the time this is done though." He looked at her quizzically and waited for her to finish her thought. Claire laughed, "I can be very...vocal during games. And..." She paused to motion at his shirt, "You would have to be a Cowboys fan."

"They are America's Team," he taunted. She almost snorted beer through her nose. "They won earlier today, too."

"I know," she said with mock irritation. "At least Troy Aik-PUSSY isn't commentating this game."

"Nobody talks about Aikman that way in front of me." Owen pretended like he was going to stand up. It elicited the exact response he wanted: she moved closer to him and put a hand on his shoulder.

"No, no," she said. "Calm down. I'll be good." Claire turned back to the television but left her hand on him. Owen rubbed the fabric of her jersey between his fingers.

"This is authentic," he said. "I'm impressed."

"Thanks," she answered, still watching the game, "I only wear the best."

"Favre's still your guy?"

"Always. I met him once." She turned to look at him. "Not to brag."

"I don't believe you," Owen teased. "Do you have proof of this?" Claire raised her eyebrows and nodded with child-like jubilance. She hopped off the the sofa and pulled a picture frame from one of the bookcases. She sat back down on the sofa right next to him and passed him the frame. It contained a photograph of a teenaged Claire wearing a Packers t-shirt and smiling ear-to-ear with her arm around Brett Favre. Owen looked at her with wonder, "Where was this taken?"

"One of his relatives owns a restaurant in Mississippi on the Gulf Coast," she explained excitedly. "My dad and I went there to watch all the games when we were stationed in Biloxi. As a thank you to all the diehard fans who supported them, the owner tipped us off to when Brett was visiting during the off-season."

"Best day of your life?"

"No," she blushed, "That actually happened at Cowboys Stadium."

"Really? You've been?" It was Owen's turn to be excited. He had never attended a game at the new stadium. The old one had been a magical place to him since childhood. He was instantly jealous.

"Super Bowl 45. Disney World box."

"No...shit." Owen's eyes were wide, and he was thoroughly impressed.

"Yep. I wore this jersey...Packers won...and I was told I got the Magic Kingdom job."

"Wow. Sports did get you to the table."

"Secret to my success."

"I'll say. Your family must've been really proud."

Claire winced, "Actually, my sister's still pretty pissed at me for not letting her family tag along." She took the frame out of Owen's hands and returned it to the shelf. He looked back at the television and considered ways to lighten the suddenly awkward mood. The Packers weren't playing well, so he knew that wouldn't help. He was startled by Claire exclaiming behind him, "Our offense today is about as useful as tits on a boar!"

Owen laughed, "Or as useful as a screen door on a submarine."

"I like that one," she smiled at him. "I may steal it. You need another beer?" He passed her his empty bottle, and she returned to the sofa with its replacement. Claire sat hunched over on the edge of the cushion next to him. She was getting increasingly frustrated, slapping her palms on her knees, and making suggestive jokes about various players' "performance anxiety." Owen sat back to enjoy the show - her passion was entertaining and turning him on - but, aside from her occasionally asking him if he needed anything, she wasn't engaging him.

At the end of the first quarter, Owen decided to take matters into his own hands - literally.

"Claire, you have to relax," he whispered as he started massaging her shoulders and upper back. She instantly sunk into the cushion and straightened her posture. He watched goosebumps spread across the skin of her arms as she moaned softly. His thumbs kneaded with increasing pressure at the base of her neck. Owen felt her tension melting away under his touch, and she was practically purring.

"It's working," Claire said breathily. "You do have skillful hands." She remembered what he said in the billiards room.

"I guess that wasn't obvious from my pool and golf games," he teased while moving his hands further down her back. He felt her breathing hitch.

"We'll just have to find a game you can win," she answered with a contented sigh. Owen lightly tickled her abdomen through her jersey, and she fell backward against him, giggling softly. Claire nestled her body into his and placed a hand on his torso. His right arm wrapped around her, and his hand rested on the curve of her hip. Her warmth felt amazing; the vanilla scent comforting. He could get used to watching football games like this.

For most of the second quarter, their bodies remained locked together. Owen could feel her heartbeat change with the game action, but she didn't pull away from him. Claire's groans of frustration were relatively muted. She gripped his shirt every now and then when a play made her anxious. During the commercial breaks, they talked about specific games they attended and their favorite home team traditions. She told him what impressed her about the new Cowboys Stadium and answered his fanboy questions about it and the Super Bowl. When Aaron Rodgers finally threw a touchdown pass at the very end of the half, Claire sat up to holler and raise a fist in victory. She smiled as she had in her photo with Brett Favre. She stood and held out a hand to Owen.

"Halftime," she said happily, "Let me give you the tour." He took her hand, and she led him around the open floor plan living area/dining room. With apparent pride, Claire showed him the other photographs displayed on her bookcases. They were mostly her posing with sports figures and celebrities - "perks of working at Disney World," she said - but none with her family. Owen wondered if that was purposeful or if those pictures were still packed in a box somewhere. He noticed a candid one of her dressed in a green ball gown and teased, "You ARE a princess."

She rolled her eyes, "One night only, for the premiere of Frozen. I actually hate those kinds of events."

"Says the woman with the photographic evidence prominently displayed on her shelf."

"It's a great photo!"

"It is. Who's that dancing with you?"

"Jonathan Groff. He voiced a character in the cartoon."

"Maybe he's the reason the picture's on display and why you look so happy," Owen said with mock jealousy.

"Not my type." She squeezed his hand. "And, he's gay." Owen was needling her for useful information and hoped that wasn't some well known celebrity fact that he'd never paid attention to. They walked over to the master bedroom. There were still a few boxes on the floor, but she'd hung some things on the walls, including Van Gogh's Starry Night and one of Monet's sunsets. Owen consciously prevented his eyes from lingering too long on her king-size bed with dark red sheets.

"Has the Senior Assets Manager always lived here?" he asked.

"No," she preened, "but I didn't want a penthouse in a building with other staff. I value my privacy."

"Me, too. I have a bungalow north of the park...on a lake."

"I look forward to that tour." Claire smiled coyly and leaned into him. It was distracting to be talking in full view of her very inviting bed. An image of her and Derek suddenly flashed through his brain, ruining the moment for him.

"Let's finish touring yours," Owen said abruptly as he pulled her out the bedroom doorway and back into the living area. Claire cringed when she turned on the light in the room on the opposite side.

"I'm in the process of converting the second bedroom into a home office," she said with embarrassment. "It's a mess right now, I know. Zara dropped off some files for me last night, so I don't have to go into my actual office after the game." She looked at him hopefully, and he wondered if this was an invitation for him to stay past the game. Owen started to feel nervous. His mind raced. Could he win the bet today? No, he wouldn't be that presumptuous. He imagined they'd just make out between her doing work, and he would be totally fine with that.

"So," he stammered, clearing his throat, "What was this place used for before you moved in?" She sighed, "It was an expensive, exclusive lodging option that could only be booked through certain agencies."

"How did you know about it?"

"There are similar exclusive lodgings at Disney World - inside the castle, for instance - so I was tipped off by a mutual VIP guest. I think Masrani used to stay here during his visits. He was a bit reluctant to give it up, but I made it a condition of my employment."

"It was worth it."

"Damn straight, and you haven't even seen the patio." Claire opened the French doors and led them outside. She had a gorgeous, unobstructed view of the ocean. It reminded Owen of the view from the walls of the raptor paddock. Conveniently placed vegetation hid the cottage from the ferry landing and the golf course. He was soothed once again by the sound of the waves and put his arm around her.

"This is practically paradise," he whispered.

"You should stay for a sunset," Claire said, stealthily wrapping her arms around him. Owen could see the desire in her eyes. The feeling was mutual. His eyes dropped to her lips briefly before he squeezed them shut at the unforeseen yet uncontrollable thought of Derek kissing her the night before. It was a total boner killer.

"Are you okay?" she asked with genuine concern in her voice.

"Sorry," he groaned, "I really need to use the bathroom."

"Use the one attached to the office, it's the closest." He dashed to the bathroom, leaving her standing alone and confused on the patio. Owen shut the door and took a few steadying breaths. He stared at his reflection in the mirror. He silently told himself to relax and be in the moment with Claire. Owen chalked up his reaction to what Derek did to him with Lara. He willfully rejected alternative explanations specific to Claire. He also did actually have to pee.

As he was re-zipping his fly, his eyes drifted down to the trash can between the toilet and the sink. It was unmistakable and the only item in the bin: an open condom wrapper. Owen felt paralyzed and had tunnel vision. When he regained control of his motor functions, he fumbled to remove his phone from his back pocket. There were no missed calls or text messages from Derek. He wondered if Derek was delaying contacting him...for some reason. Owen felt like the bathroom was spinning. He needed to get out of her house and call Derek as soon as possible. He walked out of the bathroom and made a beeline for his shoes by the front door. Out of his peripheral vision, he could see that Claire was back on the sofa watching the game.

"I'm sorry, Claire." Owen couldn't look at her. "I got a message from the raptor paddock. There's an emergency, and I have to drive over there." Since Claire had no oversight on Research, he could tell this lie with a low likelihood of her ever finding out the truth. It was perfect. Except now she was walking toward him and looking worried. "I'll call you later," he added while looking at her quickly. She opened her mouth weakly, but he was on her porch and shutting the door behind him before she could say anything.

"Fuck," he thought to himself, "I am such a dick." He drove home like a bat out of hell and dialed Derek's number as soon as he closed his door.

Derek picked up after two rings, "Are you calling to gloat?" There was irritation in his voice.

"Why haven't you?" Owen asked pointedly, ignoring Derek's tone.

"Why would I be calling you?" Derek was surprised.

"You slept with her last night."

Derek scoffed, "What makes you think that?"

"I saw evidence."

"Care to elaborate?"

Owen didn't want to elaborate. He didn't understand what was happening. Did he hallucinate the condom wrapper? Was the bet messing with his head that much? He pulled himself together and cleared his throat, "You didn't sleep with her last night?"

"No...unfortunately."

Owen took a deep breath and rubbed his temples. He chose his words carefully, "She must be sleeping with someone else." Derek laughed, "I don't believe that."

"How would you know?"

"Are we really going there, Owen? Do you want to breach the rules of engagement and talk about our progress with her?"

"No."

"Good. Neither do I." Owen suspected that Derek's ego was bruised. It made him smile. "I don't want to hear about this evidence you have either. There has to be another explanation." Now, it was Owen's turn to scoff, "It's pretty cut and dry."

"Do you want to forfeit?" Derek was taunting him. "I'd love for you to drop out of this game."

"I'm sure you would," Owen said smugly. He didn't know where that wrapper came from, but he understood now that he was at least a step ahead of Derek. "No, I don't want out of the bet."

"Then I suggest you drop this inquiry and...play through...the rough." Derek dramatically emphasized his final four words. He must've found out about the golf game or maybe just deduced it - the cunning lawyer Owen knew him to be. "Plan your next move, Owen. I already have mine." Derek hung up the phone.

Owen leaned against his kitchen counter in a daze. A realization washed over him: he was only ahead of Derek BEFORE he left Claire's place. His hasty retreat today may have completely destroyed his chances with her. Should he go back? He told her that he'd call her later. What could he say now? He didn't want to lie any more than he already had. Owen slammed his hands on his counter and repeated the word "fuck" until the air in the bungalow was blue. He finally took a breath and decided he needed to do what Derek suggested: plan his next move in the game.

* * *

 Monday morning at nine, Owen received a text message from Claire: "Can you meet me at my office today at 1230?" Like a coward, he hadn't called her on Sunday night. He got drunk instead and was still feeling hungover when he read the text at work. He wasn't sure of his exact next move, but he knew it didn't involve saying "no" to her question.

"Sure," he texted back.

"See you then," was her swift reply.

As Owen drove to her building, he wondered who else that condom wrapper could belong to. Who else knew about her cottage? He briefly considered if Barry was right when he joked about her sleeping with Masrani. He dismissed it. Just as Derek refused to believe that Claire was sleeping with anyone else, Owen refused to believe she'd sleep with her boss. What about that mysterious, mutual VIP guest of her parks? He was making himself sick over the possibilities. He couldn't believe how much she'd gotten under his skin. Owen needed his swagger back. She's just a mark, he told himself. He was confident that he'd find a way to charm her, just as he had during the literal games they played.

"Excuse me, Mr. Grady?" Owen was walking in the direction of Claire's office and turned his head toward the British female's voice. The woman was practically trembling as she extended a hand to him. "I'm Zara, Ms. Dearing's assistant."

"Hi," he said, shaking her hand.

"Right," Zara stammered and avoided eye contact. "Follow me." She knocked on a door and opened it. Zara walked into Claire's office and cleared her throat, "Mr. Grady to see you." Claire's eyes were practically daggers on her assistant. She remained seated behind her desk. Owen saw Zara swallow hard before she asked timidly, "Hold your calls?"

"Yes," Claire responded in an icy tone, "Thanks for asking PROPHYLACTICALLY." She nearly shouted her last word, and Zara looked as if she'd been slapped in the face. Zara retreated quickly and gently shut the door. Owen moved closer to Claire's desk as she stood up and walked to its front edge. He smirked and stated in a playful tone, "Things are still contentious between the two of you." She crossed her arms and sharpened her gaze at him. He deflected, "What?"

"I think you know what," she said while staring him down. Claire seemed angry, but Owen detected something akin to anguish in her eyes. He didn't know what to say. She eventually sighed, "Was there really an emergency at the raptor paddock yesterday?"

"No," he answered quietly, breaking their eye contact. Owen couldn't lie again, and she knew something anyway. Claire relaxed and leaned on the front edge of her desk. She breathed out and looked down, "I still don't know why you pulled away from me on the patio. I was trying to figure out what I did when you just...bolted. There was no way you were telling the truth based on how you acted. I thought maybe you were sick, so I went to the bathroom to investigate." They looked up at each other. "That's when I saw it...in the trash can." She raised her eyebrows. "It belonged to Alec, Zara's fiancé." Owen's eyebrows went up. "I told you that she dropped off files at my house. Alec was with her - visiting the island for the weekend - and, apparently, my place being a secluded paradise, as you put it...they couldn't control themselves."

"Makes you wonder what happened to the rubber," Owen joked.

"Oh, God," Claire gagged. "Thank you, so much, for THAT visual." She groaned, "My evening plans have now been changed to 'sanitizing my cottage in search of a used condom.'" She shook her head then took a deep breath, "Why did you run? Were you judging me?"

"No," he said, looking right at her. "I felt like your fluffer." After she blinked several times, Claire was clearly struggling to contain her laughter. Her body started to shudder. When she couldn't contain it any longer, the laughter spilled out in staccato bursts and tiny tears formed in her eyes. She fanned herself as if to keep from hyperventilating. It was contagious, and Owen suddenly found himself laughing, too.

Claire settled her breathing by placing a hand below her collarbone. She flashed him an adoring smile, "Owen, no...that is...ridiculous." She walked up to him and put her hands on his chest. "On the contrary. Being with you on Saturday morning made it so much less likely that something was going to happen with Mr. Saturday Night. If anything, he should've been the fluffer for Sunday." She pulled away from him and nervously smoothed her hair with both hands. Owen noticed a bouquet of red roses on her desk. Claire asked meekly, "Will you give me another chance?" He nearly did a double-take. Less than 24 hours ago, he thought he'd lost the bet. Now, she was begging him to continue pursuing her without him having to do any work - no smolder, no charm. All he did was tell the truth. Standing before her, Owen realized that his reaction the previous day had nothing to do with Lara. It had everything to do with Claire.

"Of course, Claire." Her resultant smile made him feel very warm inside.

"Great," she said softly while walking back to her chair. "I have an idea for something, but I don't know if I can make it work. I'll...um...have to call you later." She was back in business mode and sitting in front of her computer screen.

"I have to get back to work, too, Claire. No worries. Talk to you later." She smiled appreciatively. Owen grinned to himself as he walked toward her door. After shutting it behind him, he strolled past Zara, who was sitting at her desk.

"Mr. Grady," she whispered nervously, "I'm so sorry. Is there anything I can do to make it right?" He laughed maniacally on the inside.

"Sure," he said lightly, "When's her next open Saturday night?"

“I'll check." Zara turned to her computer screen. "October 4th, after eight."

Owen was stunned, "Are you kidding? That's three weeks away!"

"She's a woman in high demand."

"Fine," he groaned, "Put me on her schedule that night."

"Oh," Zara said with a conspiratorial smile, "and October 2nd is Thursday Night Football. She's already asked me to block that."

"Thanks." He was frustrated. October 2nd was too long to wait to see her.

"She'll find a way to see you before then," Zara said reassuringly.

"How do you know?"

"Just a hunch. She was pissed off at me, but I could tell she was gutted." Owen wasn't exactly sure what she meant but understood the jist. He asked with trepidation, "Are those roses on her desk from the other guy?"

"I would assume," Zara snorted. "She threw the card in the trash and told me that I ruined her chance of getting flowers from the 'right guy.'"

"You ruined my day, too."

"Again, I'm sorry," she groaned, "What else do you want?"

"What's her favorite flower?"

She scoffed, "Flowers aren't really her thing."

"What is then?"

"Just pay attention. She's already shown a lot to you." He shook his head. Zara added seriously, "I'm glad you like her, too. Most men would've viewed it as an invitation." The conversation was making Owen uncomfortable when it should've been making him smug. He said a quick "thank you" and headed for the staircase. He tried to focus on planning his next move. He tried not to focus on the enormous sense of relief he felt after learning the truth about the condom wrapper.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this fluffer-y chapter - I consider it an Easter egg/clue to a character set to appear in the next one! There were some things I wanted to explore more here, but I've delayed the "action" long enough. Please review and stay tuned...


	4. Uncharted Territory

Owen drove back to the paddock and went straight to his office. He was at a loss for his next move. He didn't like waiting for a woman's call. Barry hadn't arrived for his shift when Owen left to see Claire, but he was working with the raptors when Owen pulled up. Shortly after his return, Barry knocked on his door. He looked nervous as he walked in and shut the door behind him. Owen was concerned and waited for his co-worker to speak. Barry cleared his throat, "I just wanted to make you aware of some...gossip." Owen groaned, anticipating what he would say but not wanting to reveal anything. "It's about Claire Dearing and...Fernandez. One of the guys saw them Saturday night at Nobu."

"He worked fast," Owen replied, shrugging his shoulders. "Oh well."

"You don't care?" He honestly didn't. Owen knew enough not to be threatened by that night anymore.

"I'm not worried," Owen said confidently.

"Oh, right. She'll discover soon enough what he's really like." He looked at Owen with bewilderment. "Are you...seeing her?"

"Yeah." He couldn't lie to Barry. Complete trust was essential to their work with the raptors. The predators were too smart. They would take advantage of any perceived division between their lead handlers.

"Wow. YOU worked fast." Barry looked down. The conversation was headed in a direction that Owen usually didn't go with his co-worker. Barry tread cautiously. "So, I'm guessing you want to go to the gala now."

"No, Barry, I told you I was covering that night. You've never been." The annual Jurassic World employee gala was the one night of the year when the park closed early. It was a massive and raucous "thank you" dinner and party for the staff. InGen employees were always included as well. Before the announcement about Claire's hiring, Owen agreed to be at the paddock during the gala to allow as many other Research staff as possible to attend. Barry did the same for him the previous year, when Owen and Derek had played wingmen to each other - very successfully. "Besides," he added with a smirk, "I'd rather spend time with her one-on-one."

"D'accord," Barry laughed and opened the office door. "See you out there." Once alone, Owen wondered if Claire would have her phone during the gala. He plotted to keep her distracted from Derek and anyone else who came up to scratch.

Claire called Owen around seven that night. When he answered, he quelled his frustration from hours of waiting impatiently.

"I was starting to regret my decision to give you another chance," he teased.

"Very funny," she sounded amused, "I know you already added yourself to my calendar on October 4th. Nice of you to ask me first."

"Your schedule is so packed, what other choice did I have?" he said playfully.

"About that...do you have any plans this Thursday evening?"

"No. What's your offer?"

"It depends on whether you have the right equipment." Owen really wished they were having this conversation in person. "I wasn't joking when we met about having a gun case. I have a safety exercise planned with the ACU all Thursday afternoon and then I'm going to their range for some target shooting. Commander Hamada is allowing me to use it...privately."

"I thought we were avoiding competitive sports?"

"That was YOUR idea. Stop pretending you don't like it."

"So confident, Claire." Owen was really turned on by this phone call.

"You like that, too." He did. She sighed, "Are you joining me or what?"

"Absolutely. My Glock and I will be there at...what time?"

"Good answer. Seven."

"See you then." Owen hung up the phone and decided he needed a cold shower.

In preparation for Thursday evening, Owen acquired a hundred rounds of ball ammo from one of the ACU troopers assigned to the raptor paddock - no questions asked. He was surprisingly pleased that Claire was the type of woman who preferred him to buy bullets instead of flowers. He also never considered how erotic it might be to shoot with a woman. Owen hoped she'd be up for doing other things "privately" at the range. It would be mortifying if she was a better shot than him AND he didn't get to make out with her. He knew he was a good kisser, and introducing Claire to his skillful tongue was overdue.

There were no cars in the range's lot when Owen arrived. Inside, the lights were on, but he didn't see Claire or anyone else. He checked his phone for messages - nothing. There hadn't been any contact between them since their call on Monday night. Normally, this would be thrilling to Owen. He hated women who needed to be in contact every day. He found it irritating and not gratifying. He always thought it would be relaxing to be with an independent woman who didn't need frequent reassurance from him. Claire was proving to be very different from other women he pursued and not just "on paper." His own reactions to her behavior were less predictable, too. For the first time, Owen wished the woman was more communicative. He brushed this off as being related to the uncertainty of Derek's progress with her.

Owen heard a door shut and footsteps approaching. Claire appeared from around a corner wearing a black fitted t-shirt, jeans and mid-calf black leather boots. He wondered if this was what she wore for the ACU exercise or if she changed for him - either way, it was a really sexy look for her. She was carrying sets of shooting glasses, earmuffs, and earplugs.

"Are you ready for me?" Claire asked tauntingly.

"Always. I was beginning to worry you forgot about me."

"That's impossible." She grinned at him. "Why would you think that?"

"Your car isn't here."

"Oh. I was in the field with ACU all afternoon, so it's back at my building." She put the eye and ear protection on a small table and walked to the lockers against the back wall.

"That's a hike from here," he said playfully as he opened his bag on the table. "You'll need a ride." Owen smiled thinking about Claire's arms wrapped around him on his bike.

"I was counting on one." She took her handgun case out of a locker and brought it to the table.

"Nice of you to ask me first," he teased, parroting her words from their phone call.

"I can always ask Zara to come get me - she's going to owe me for a while."

"No, no. I got you." He smiled at her seductively.

"That you do." She licked her lips, and Owen considered pushing everything off the table and jumping her on it. He was glad he didn't, however, when Claire cleared her gun's chamber and a bullet rolled onto the ground.

"You keep yours loaded and with...hollow points?" he queried - slightly alarmed but mostly impressed - as he picked the bullet off the floor and gave it back to her.

Claire shrugged, "If you're gonna use deadly force, make sure it's deadly." She removed the magazine from her gun's handle. "I don't waste the hollow points target shooting, obviously. How many rounds did you bring?"

"One hundred."

"Same, but I'll get through mine faster." She motioned to his gun. "That's a 40 caliber, right?" He nodded. "Thirteen in the magazine plus one in the chamber?"

"Very good, Claire." He sized hers up as well. "Eighteen plus one in your 9mm?" She nodded. They both had Glock handguns - the "Honda of guns," Owen was told growing up in Texas. His was the more powerful one, but hers was a classic. "We can swap halfway through the rounds." That surprised her.

"What?" she exclaimed with wide eyes. "No. The recoil on yours would be very uncomfortable for me."

"Are you saying you can't handle my equipment?" Owen smiled deviously. She sharpened her gaze at him. He loudly and emphatically pushed a magazine into the handle of his gun. "I get it," he said mischievously with a shrug, "It's too much gun for you."

"Fine," she relented. "We'll swap...after I clear three clips." He could tell she was unnerved. He felt like a winner already. They walked to their stalls, where Claire had already hung targets. After signaling that they were ready, they each made quick work of unloading their first magazines. Owen looked at her target while reloading and was impressed by her accuracy. He was relaxed and took it slow to keep pace with her additional shots per clip. Between the second and third magazines, he noticed that her accuracy decreased slightly. His didn't. Owen couldn't wait to switch guns. When they finished their third magazines, he took off his ear protection and stepped over to her stall.

"Okay," he taunted, "Pass me that pellet gun of yours."

"You know this isn't fair," Claire groaned. "The 40 caliber has a lot of kick-back."

"I manage." Owen handed her his gun and delighted in her frustration. She bit her lip and refrained from complaining further. Claire hung fresh targets for them both. "You're really good, Claire," he said, holding her first target. He was trying to both compliment her and throw her off. She fumed silently while giving him her gun and remaining ammo.

With her gun in his hands, Owen did not take it slow. More bullets and less kick meant that he was going to show her up. He blazed through two magazines before she finished one with his gun. He couldn't see her, but he knew she was struggling. Claire's accuracy and speed were markedly reduced. Owen finished off her one hundred rounds handily, and his pulse was pounding by the end. He was really aroused, too. Owen pulled in his target to signal to her that he was done. He leaned against the wall between their stalls and wondered if she would surrender before finishing his one hundred. No, she'd be too stubborn and proud not to finish.

When Claire stopped firing and retrieved her own target, Owen waited for her to come to him. She walked slowly to his side of the wall. She had already removed her eye and ear protection, and her hands were trembling. She looked genuinely wounded. Her vulnerability made him want her more.

"Come here," he said. Claire took two steps toward him, and he put his hands on her hips. Her hands were still shaky, so she rested them on his arms. She wouldn't look at him. "I wanted to win, Claire." His voice was soft; his breathing heavy. "I'm sorry if your hands hurt."

"You made me feel weak," she finally said, still avoiding eye contact. Owen sighed, "That's how I always feel around you."

"I don't do it on purpose." She didn't, and he was being honest again. She had an effect on him like no other woman he could remember. Owen rubbed her sides with his thumbs, and she breathed in sharply.

"Mostly," he whispered, "you just make me weak in the knees." This finally got her to look up at him. Owen brought his lips down to hers, and she moved the final fraction of an inch to initiate the kiss. He was gentle at first, savoring the softness of her lips. Claire responded slowly, and her grip on his arms tightened as her hand strength rebounded. He pushed her against the wall when she opened her mouth to him. Her tongue was acrobatic, twisting and massaging his in a way that seemed to light him on fire. She kept his arms still, forcing them to build the intensity of the kiss with only their mouths. When he sucked on her bottom lip, she moaned and finally moved her arms to his neck. Owen swiftly wrapped one arm around her waist and threaded the other diagonally across her back to her right shoulder. He pulled her body flush against his as she ran her nails lightly across his scalp. Their kiss became hungrier, each seemed to be trying to devour the other. He broke away breathlessly to ask, "I really can't see you this weekend?" Claire pulled him back to her lips for a few more tongue tumbles before answering, "No, I'm swamped with prep for the gala and early park closure." He groaned and crushed his mouth back against hers.

"What about the game?" Owen pulled away again, feeling desperate. He moved his lips to her neck as she dropped one arm to her side. She was panting, "It's early Sunday, and I have a business brunch at the same time." He moved one of his hands under her shirt and up to her bra. Claire moaned loudly, and her knees buckled slightly. He laughed against her neck as he supported her body. She swallowed and struggled with her words, "I'll have the event planner...seat you next to me...at the gala." Owen suddenly stopped kissing her neck, and his hands froze. Claire tensed. "Too soon?" She stuttered nervously, "You don't have to sit next to me. Sorry...I just thought-"

"Shhh," he mouthed as he pulled up to meet her eyes. Owen shook his head and caressed her cheek. "Of course, I would want to sit next to you," he said reassuringly, "if I were going." Claire looked stunned. She gripped his elbows.

"You're not going?" she asked sadly. "I was counting on seeing you there...it was going to make it tolerable."

Owen kissed her lightly and smiled, "It's the kind of event you hate, right?"

"Yes. Why aren't you going?"

"I went last year when someone else covered the raptor paddock. My turn to cover."

"That's kind of you." She rested her forehead on his. "I guess I'd rather be alone with you anyway."

"Come to the paddock," he blurted out reflexively.

"During the gala?" Claire was agape, but Owen could tell that the idea enticed her. He started kissing her neck again and put both of his hands under her shirt. She purred, "You win at this." He moved his mouth back to hers. He hadn't enjoyed just kissing someone so much in a long time. Owen gave up on trying to unhook her bra against the wall and focused on keeping their bodies in close contact while they made out. As if reading his mind, Claire wrapped her left leg around his right one, bringing their pelvises together. She used him for leverage and started thrusting upwards. He shuddered in pleasure at the sensation and moaned into her mouth. Her foot crashed to the floor when they both startled at the sound of a door opening. Owen instinctively moved in front of Claire and faced the range entrance.

"Grady?" the ACU trooper asked with confusion as he walked into view.

"Hey, Miller," Owen said calmly in response. Claire moved to stand next to him and held onto his hand.

"Hi, Ms. Dearing," Trooper Danny Miller laughed nervously. "Sorry to...interrupt. I...uh...left something in one of the lockers, and Commander Hamada said the range was open." Claire was clearly irritated. As Danny walked to the lockers, she turned to Owen.

"So much for my private session," she whispered while massaging the back of his hand with her thumb. Owen smiled at her contentedly before turning to posture at the trooper. He crossed his arms and asked pointedly, "Find what you need, Miller?"

"No, actually, I must've been wrong about where I left it."

"Shocking," Owen said sarcastically. He could tell Danny was full of shit. "Keep looking...elsewhere." Danny stiffened then nodded and headed to the exit. When he heard the door shut, Owen turned toward Claire. "He was lying. Prick."

"Why do you think he was here?" She asked playfully. He raised his eyebrows and scoffed, "Same reason I'm here." Claire blushed, "We should probably pack up." Owen nodded reluctantly. She restored their eye and ear protection to wherever she retrieved them while Owen cleaned up their fallen shells. When she returned, Owen passed her the targets. She winced at her second one.

"I'm impressed regardless, Claire. You can handle my gun anytime." He winked at her. She rolled her eyes while reloading her gun with the hollow point magazine. "How'd you get into shooting, anyhow?"

" _Goldeneye_ ," she answered matter-of-fact. Owen didn't quite follow. Claire laughed, "The old Nintendo video game. I played it A LOT in high school."

"Do you still play video games?"

"No, absolutely not. _Goldeneye_ was the only one I liked...or was good at."

"I thought you were good at everything."

"Most things." One side of her mouth curled up, and he wanted to kiss her again. When their bags were packed, Owen took her hand and led her outside to his bike.

"You've ridden one before?" He asked cautiously.

"Nope," she smirked, "This will be my first time."

"Okay, well, just hold on tight then."

"Gladly." Owen helped Claire get on the bike, and she wrapped her arms around him. She rested her cheek on his shoulder. His blood pressure surged with the warmth of her body against him once more. He wished they were headed back to his place rather than to her office building. He was impressed by how relaxed she was as they rode and wondered if she was lying about it being her first time. Owen then remembered what she said while they were golfing about being a bad actress.

As they reached her building's parking lot, he started to worry about Danny Miller. Owen wondered if the trooper would gossip and how fast word might spread about Claire and him. In all honesty, he wasn't comfortable with it being widely known that they were seeing each other. It was easy to tell her that he would sit with her at the gala since he wasn't going, but that kind of public appearance together would challenge his ability to stay focused on the bet. Owen didn't want to view them as actually dating. He had decided after the condom wrapper "incident" that he would avoid taking her out on true dates in order to minimize his own confusion about the objective. Feeling her around him now, however, made his head swirl. He wanted to make out with her again and again without considering it a temporary arrangement.

They made out again, albeit briefly, before she got into her car. It was passionate - just short of dry-humping against the side of the Mercedes - but Owen cut it off when she refused to make plans with him before the night of the gala.

"I'm sorry," Claire said breathlessly, "I can't." He was tempted to correct her and say that she "won't," but he didn't want to snap at her. Plus, he only had a vague notion of the breadth of her responsibilities. She might actually be that busy. As she looked at him with consternation in her eyes, Owen softened. It was, after all, very early in their seeing each other, and he bolted from her house just a few days ago. He felt pressed by the bet, but she had good reason to be wary of diving into something too fast with him. He sighed, "My invitation to come to the paddock that night stands." Owen jokingly bowed in front of her then kissed her hand.

"I'll consider it," Claire said with pink cheeks. "Maybe after the dinner?"

"Text me," he said quickly before turning to get back on his bike. He didn't look back at her as he drove off.

* * *

Owen made plans with a friend on Saturday night, as he was oft to do when he wasn't dating someone. Despite not wanting to consider them as dating, it annoyed him to no end that Claire wasn't with him for two consecutive Saturday nights. He was so annoyed and frustrated that he decided not to contact her. By the time he was knocking on his friend's door, she hadn't contacted him either. Owen had been obsessively checking his phone every five minutes. As the door opened, he put it back in his pocket and resolved not to look at it all night.

"Hey, man," Lowery Cruthers greeted him warmly. "Good to see you...and the Guinness!" Lowery excitedly took the 6-pack out of Owen's hand and shut the door. "What are we playing tonight?" Lowery asked while passing Owen a can and opening one for himself.

"There's been too much competition in my life lately," Owen lamented. "Got anything that's cooperative?"

Lowery breathed out and scratched his head. "No recent releases but there are a few oldies. Be right back." He went into another room while Owen sat on the sofa. Lowery returned with a small plastic crate and put it on the coffee table in front of them. He was digging through it intently and found what he was looking for. He held up a game box in each hand, "Your options are _Uncharted 2_ or _Call of Duty: Black Ops._ "

" _Black Ops_?" Owen grimaced as he took a sip of his Guinness. "Is that the one with zombies...in the Pentagon?" Lowery nodded. "Ugh. No zombies tonight. _Uncharted_ is a classic. That sounds better."

While loading the game in his PlayStation, Lowery asked with curiosity, "What competition did you mean? You're not still hung up on Lara, are you?"

"Hey," Owen was defensive, "I was never hung up on her. I was pissed at Derek."

"Whatever you say." Lowery passed a controller to Owen and moved the crate to the floor. "Seriously, though, what have you been up to?"

"I'm seeing someone, but it's casual." He tried to keep it light to maintain control of the narrative he was weaving. Owen struggled, however, to conceal his bitterness. "She's busy all the time anyway, so I can't get too attached."

"It feels so good being your consolation prize," Lowery said with exaggerated sarcasm. He smiled deviously and added, "Casual...can't get attached and yet...you're playing video games with me on Saturday night instead of going out and trying to hook up with someone else." He raised an eyebrow and stared at Owen. "I'm just sayin'..."

Owen rolled his eyes and changed the subject, "What about you? Are you still seeing that vet, Rebecca?"

"No," he answered flatly while resting his feet on the edge of the coffee table. "She told me I was immature. Can you believe it?" They laughed.

"I call Drake," Owen said, surveying the character selection screen.

"Aww, come on!" Lowery exclaimed. "Look at you. You ARE Drake, every day. Can't I be Drake in the game?"

"You're right," Owen taunted. "I'll let you pretend to be me...I mean, Drake."

"Thank you for being a gentleman...for once."

They became engrossed in the game play and traded friendly barbs about each other's skills. After a while, Lowery took a bathroom break and Owen got another Guinness. When they resumed play, Owen asked, "Do you remember that game _Goldeneye_? It was on Nintendo 64."

"Of course," Lowery said while still looking at the screen. "Revolutionary game. Seminal."

"Is that something you could get off eBay?"

"Sure," Lowery answered distractedly, "You can get anything on eBay, including the N64 and accessories. You'd just need to make sure it was compatible with your TV." He looked over at Owen. "Why do you ask?"

Owen cleared his throat, "The woman I'm seeing...she told me she was into that game."

"Whaaaaaat?" Lowery suddenly paused their game and raised one hand in the air. "Hold the phone. You're dating an older woman?"

"She's younger than me," Owen grumbled, avoiding eye contact.

"No. I mean older FOR you. You usually date..." He paused for dramatic effect. "Girls. And you never refer to them as 'woman.' If this WOMAN you're seeing knows N64 _Goldeneye_ from...1997, that makes her, what? Early thirties?"

"So? What's the problem?"

"You're dipping into my pool!" Owen's face scrunched up in confusion. Lowery shook his head and explained, "One of the keys to our friendship is that our dating pools don't overlap. We're not direct threats to each other with the ladies. I date older and brainy. You date younger and-"

"Dumb?"

"I was going to say 'slutty' but 'dumb' works, too." Owen rolled his eyes. "You cannot start dipping into my pool - I can't compete with you - and I don't stand a chance in your pool."

"I guess we can't be friends anymore," Owen teased.

"Don't even joke about that. You know how hard it is to find someone on this island who plays video games AND follows the NFL religiously." Owen kept his lips tight as he laughed through his nose. It was Lowery's turn to be confused. "What?"

Owen grinned broadly, "It's just..." He laughed and continued in a mocking tone, "The WOMAN I'm seeing also watches football." Lowery groaned, "You got to my perfect woman before me. We can't be friends anymore."

"Not your perfect woman," Owen said reassuringly, "She's a Packers fan."

"Au contraire," Lowery answered wistfully. "In the romantic comedy version of my life, that is the perfect woman. You know how the story goes. We'd be rivals and flirt - I'd win her over. Then, I'd choose the Vikings over her in the third act before we dramatically reunite at the Super Bowl."

"She's been to a Super Bowl, too."

"You're killing me, man!" Lowery threw his hands in the air. Owen chuckled and reveled in his friend's frustration. "Who is this fantasy girl?" Owen stopped laughing and stiffened. Barry knew. Danny Miller knew. Zara seemed like the mouthy type. If Lowery found out from someone else, their friendship might be in actual jeopardy.

"It's Claire Dearing," Owen said quietly. Lowery dropped his jaw and blinked rapidly. He leaned back against the sofa cushion, staring ahead blankly. His expression shifted to being pensive. Lowery stopped himself from speaking and took another breath. Owen didn't know if he was truly having difficulty processing the information or deliberately tormenting him.

"Well," Lowery finally said, "I take back what I said about you dipping into my pool. And, I am...surprisingly on board with this. Good for you both." With that, he picked up his controller and resumed their play. Owen shrugged and continued the game. He and Lowery didn't have deep conversations, in general, nor did they talk much about work. Owen was relieved things seemed normal and that Lowery didn't ask questions. He probably didn't want to know further details since Claire was his direct supervisor.

When they'd finished the 6-pack and decided to switch games, Lowery excused himself to get another crate. He startled Owen by throwing a game case on his lap. It was _Goldeneye 007: Reloaded_ , for PlayStation.

"A remake?" Owen asked.

"Yeah," Lowery sighed. "Came out a few years ago. It's solid - not as good as the original. You won't get 'too attached,' but she'll appreciate the gesture." Owen was speechless. Lowery rolled his eyes and walked to his kitchen for something. Owen took his phone out of his pocket. There was a text from Claire: "I wish I was spending my Saturday night with you." He felt buzzed, and it wasn't the Guinness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. Owen's getting feedback that's tough to reconcile. Please give me your feedback, too.


	5. Tail In a Spin

In the days leading up to the gala, Owen texted Claire just enough to tease her and keep him on her mind. He didn't try to make her feel guilty about not seeing him. After Saturday night, he realized that being standoffish and bitter was no way to win the bet. He also enjoyed being more communicative with her. On the day of the gala, Owen started his shift at 5pm, the same time that the park closed early. He texted Claire upon his arrival at work: "I'll be at the paddock for the next nine hours, then I turn into a pumpkin."

The gala dinner was at 7pm, and the party had to wrap by 1am to maintain the usual park opening at 8am. Owen still had positive feelings about last year's event despite his falling out with Derek. He almost felt bad encouraging Claire to leave. He imagined, however, that the experience wasn't quite the same for the Senior Assets Manager and already knew that she personally didn't like those events. He couldn't wait to pull her away from it and Derek.

Claire texted him back after only a few minutes: "I need my beauty rest, so I'll be turning into a pumpkin in seven hours." Midnight, Owen thought with a smile.

"What is Cinderella wearing to the ball?" he wrote back.

"I am no Cinderella," she answered immediately. "I don't want to spoil your surprise." Owen adjusted the collar of his shirt, feeling warm. He wondered if he should've brought a second shirt to his shift, considering how dirty his current one could get before her arrival. He tidied up his office and looked over at his pull-out sofa. Before Barry came on board, Owen was working such long shifts that he frequently spent the night in his office. He hadn't slept on the sofa-bed in a long time and didn't even know if it had clean sheets. He chastised himself for not being more thoughtful, but he also didn't want to get ahead of himself. His office was generally a mess - one of several reasons he never previously considered bringing a date to the paddock. Derek would be amused at the irony of Owen's inviting Claire there. Why did he invite her? Why break one of his cardinal rules? Owen had been asking himself this since the night at the range. He still didn't have a good answer, but he knew he wanted to see her.

After finishing in his office, Owen made rounds at the paddock to touch base with the skeleton crew present for the shift. Some of the ACU troopers had been looking at him funny this week, and he guessed that Danny Miller was running his mouth. Barry hadn't said anything to him, which Owen thought was a good sign. Danny likely just spread the fact of his being at the range with Claire. Owen was more bothered by Lowery's supportive reaction. Now, the two people closest to him on the island not only knew about Claire, they also thought positively about the pairing.

Shortly after six, Owen texted Claire again: "What time do you think you'll get here? I need a head's up since I'm working with very dangerous animals and have a reduced staff for the night." He was already really horny.

"I don't know," she wrote moments later. "Maybe I'll meet Prince Charming and won't want to leave the ball." He hoped to God she was joking. Claire never explicitly confirmed that she was coming to the paddock. It was just strongly implied in their text conversation. Maybe she was baiting him to beg her. He wouldn't give her the satisfaction. Owen turned off the ringer and went back to work.

He checked his phone right at seven. Claire had texted him at 6:45: "I'll be having strong words with the event planner tomorrow over the seating arrangements." Owen laughed out loud. He had assumed that Derek finagled a seat at her table.

"No Prince Charming sitting next to you?" he asked before turning his text alerts to vibrate. His phone buzzed in his pocket fifteen minutes later. Owen was astonished by Claire's long response: "Everyone has an agenda - it's the number one reason I hate these events. Number two is that most people don't want their boss at a party like this. I just finished my welcoming remarks. It's clear that I'm a novelty piece to so many people here in addition to all the usual assumptions - reason number three!"

"Explain reason number three," he wrote with delight and genuine curiosity. It was going to be easier than he thought to keep her distracted.

Claire's answer came through after ten minutes: "I could give a TED talk on reason number three. It's demeaning and cliché that women are expected to use their looks at these events. I lose a bit - if not more - of my credibility every time I dress up for an occasion like this. It diminishes the skills that I employed to get where I am today and reinforces others' suspicions about my not truly deserving the position."

"So, you're saying that you look really hot tonight," Owen teased in response.

"Yes," appeared on his screen immediately and was followed shortly thereafter by what he interpreted to be a rueful caveat: "I want to look good, for me. I just don't like people believing that I look good to gain an advantage. That I'm the type to use my feminine wiles to get ahead in life. Men in my position don't have to worry about that type of scrutiny."

Owen considered his reply carefully and texted back: "You're right. It's not fair. I don't think that about you. If people at the gala do, all the more reason to leave early and use your feminine wiles to take advantage of me."

"You're sweet," Claire answered almost instantly. "I wish you were here." He was happy not to be there. He wanted her at the paddock with him. He was confident she'd get there eventually and went back to work, thoroughly distracted by thoughts of what she was wearing.

Owen's phone buzzed shortly after 8pm, but it wasn't from Claire. It was from Lowery: "Where are you? Derek is all over Claire at dinner."

"What's she wearing?" Owen couldn't help asking.

"No," Lowery wrote back right away. "I am not doing that for you or taking pictures."

"Help me out. I'm covering the raptor paddock."

"You knew...Derek's the competition you mentioned, isn't he?" Owen didn't respond. He wasn't putting anything in writing and wasn't even sure he should mention it privately to Lowery later. He let a few minutes pass, and Lowery texted him again: "I'm interpreting your silence as a yes. I would consider being your spy for the evening."

"Not having a good time?" Owen taunted. "Bad seating arrangement?"

"The worst."

"I'll tell Claire."

"No! She helped organize this thing. I won't be your spy."

"You would've done a bad job anyway. What kind of spy doesn't take pictures?"

"The kind who doesn't want his boss to think he's a perv." Owen laughed. He had so many questions for Lowery, but he wasn't sure if he wanted to get the answers in this way. He didn't know that Lowery spying for him would change the outcome of the night or the bet, and it could lead to questions that Owen wasn't ready to answer.

"Don't worry about spying," wrote Owen. "Just have fun."

"Spying would be more fun than anything that's happening here right now," responded Lowery. "Your loss." It was feeding time for the raptors, so Owen did his best to stay focused on his job.

During the raptor feeding, Owen's phone buzzed repeatedly, but his hands weren't free to check it. He took a look at the screen when he was able, and it lit up with messages from Lowery: "She's looking at her phone a lot...She looks sad...She's leaving the room...Okay, it's been fifteen minutes, and Derek is still here but she's not back yet...I am so pathetic."

Just then, Owen heard tires crunching against the ground behind him. He looked down from the paddock catwalks and saw Claire's Mercedes. The side of his mouth curled up. She was eager. That excited him and more than canceled out his being annoyed that she didn't give him a head's up. Before turning off his phone completely, he sent a message to Lowery: "Try to enjoy yourself. She surfaced elsewhere." Owen heard his raptors snarling at him. He watched them defiantly jump toward him, one by one.

"Hey," he shouted, "Cut the shit. You just ate." Delta snapped her jaws. "I saw that, Delta, settle down." Owen pressed his clicker and adopted a dominant posture. "Blue, keep them in line. Move along, all of you." He motioned for them to disperse. When he turned around on the catwalks, he could see Claire leaning against her car and looking up at him. He couldn't make out the expression on her face.

Owen took his time walking down to her. It gave him an opportunity to admire her evening look. Claire was wearing a black halter dress that stopped just above her knees and cut low in the front and back. It hugged her curves tightly. She looked to die for. As he got closer to her, Owen noticed her smoky eye makeup - it was a look he liked very much on women. Her green eyes seemed to pop as she regarded his approach.

"Damn, Claire," he said, making a show of looking her up and down. "You are no Cinderella. Mmmm." He smiled lasciviously. "I guess you didn't meet Prince Charming."

"I'm looking at him," she smirked. "He's disguised as a bossy...filthy raptor trainer." She walked up to him so that their faces were almost touching. Without breaking eye contact, Claire tugged at his shirt's lapels then ran her hands down the front of his vest. "Now, I want him to take me back to his castle." Owen had to remind himself to breathe. This was the Claire he met in the billiards room, and she had him hooked again.

He led her into the long, narrow building next to the paddock.

"I'm going to wash up," he said as he stood next to the restroom and pointed to his office door at the far end. "You can wait for me in there." Claire nodded wordlessly and bit her lip before entering his office. Owen enjoyed the view. Her ass looked fantastic.

Looking in the bathroom mirror, he felt nervous. He didn't understand why. No woman had made him this nervous since he was a virgin. Was it having a woman in his office? Owen tried to shake it off and focus on the bet. The bet. Could he win it tonight? It would burn Derek badly to do so. Did he want to win the bet tonight? Owen closed his eyes. He didn't want it to be over. He was enjoying himself too much. Derek wasn't that close behind him - hell, he might never catch up - so Owen could take his time, like usual. He could draw this out. There was no rush.

When he opened then promptly locked his office door, Claire was looking at his Navy awards shadowbox on the wall. She turned her head and smiled at him. Owen walked up behind her and put his arms around her waist.

"The Navy Commendation Medal is nice," she said softly while leaning back against him.

"Impressed?" he asked playfully.

"I'd be more impressed if it was a Meritorious Service Medal." She was teasing him. Even in the Air Force, Owen knew that the MSM was only given to field grade officers with very rare exceptions. He didn't accept the promotion beyond company grade and was proud to receive the Commendation at his separation.

"The Navy is much more judicious with its medal-giving than the Air CONDITIONED Force," he teased back. Owen tightened his grip on her waist and started slowly kissing her neck. Her head fell back, and she moaned quietly. He planned to leave his mark on her tonight, so that everyone - especially Derek - knew that she enjoyed herself after leaving the gala. He languidly ran one of his hands up her torso to her breast.

"Owen," purred Claire with closed eyes. She ran a hand through his hair. He switched to the other side of her neck and fondled both of her breasts over her dress. "Mmmm. I was supposed to be taking advantage of you."

"I'm making you feel welcome in my castle," he whispered. After leaving another hickey on her neck, Owen gently flipped her around to bring her lips in close proximity to his. She opened her eyes and smiled at him. It was sweet, not sultry. He smoothed her hair and smiled back in a similar way. Claire caught him off guard by roughly grabbing his ass with both of her hands and bringing their lips together. She immediately put her tongue in his mouth. The sensation was spectacular. He maneuvered them toward a wall to press against her. Owen pulled away slightly to breathlessly request, "Do that thing with your leg again." Claire laughed lightly, "When we were interrupted?"

"Yeah, it's a great move."

"This dress doesn't allow that range of motion."

"I'll rectify that."

"What?" she exclaimed as he stooped down and gripped the hem of her dress with both hands. Claire took a sharp intake of breath while he ripped a slit in the dress over her left leg. He looked up at her with a cheeky smile and ran his hand up her leg to where the slit ended near her hip. Her shocked expression dissolved when she moaned. Owen stroked her inner thigh, and she shuddered in pleasure.

"Get back up here," she commanded. He stood and pulled her into him. Claire wrapped her arms around his neck to resume kissing him. She was able to wind her leg around his and thrust into his center. The combination of her tongue and pelvic movements felt amazing. Owen's blood rushed. He suddenly wished he'd changed the sheets on the sofa-bed. There was no way Claire couldn't feel how hard she was making him. He moved a hand down to her breast in a vain attempt to push the fabric out of the way. It was no use. The dress was tight, and he was too distracted by the sensation in his groin. As she continued her two-pronged assault, Owen fumbled to untie the top of the dress at the back of her neck. He pulled his mouth back to smile victoriously as the halter straps dropped forward.

"Bravo," Claire said tauntingly. Just then, someone's voice came through the walkie-talkie on his belt, pleading him to get out to the paddock.

"Son of a bitch," he groaned while still holding her tightly. "Every time!" Claire chuckled softly and reached up to retie her straps. Owen trailed his fingertips across her bare back before pulling away. "Don't leave," he begged. The side of her mouth curled up when she answered, "I won't."

"Make yourself comfortable," Owen sighed as he left the office. He was pissed but had to let it go to help settle the raptors, who had split up and were taking advantage of the limitations of the current staffing. It took him and the others almost 45 minutes to resolve the situation. When he returned to his office, Claire was sitting at his desktop computer and typing.

"What are you doing?" Owen asked as he hung his vest on the hook behind his door. He sat down on the sofa, feeling exhausted.

"Getting some work done," she answered. He groaned and leaned his head back, closing his eyes. The mood was officially ruined. Claire laughed, "I'm trying to free up some space for you...us in the next several days." He perked up and looked at her. "Can you do lunch on Friday?"

"Sure," he said, "Where?"

"Bring something to my office. It's the least you can do after tearing my dress." She winked at him. She wasn't mad, and it was so hot in the moment. Claire stood up and walked toward him. "The new slit allows me to do this, too." She climbed on the sofa, straddled him, and sat back on his thighs. She opened the top two buttons on his shirt and trailed kisses from his chest to his neck. It was her turn to take advantage of him. Claire marked her territory just as he did - tit for tat. Owen was getting aroused again and realized that his office door wasn't locked.

"Claire," he panted with his eyes closed, "we really shouldn't. The guys might need me at any moment."

"Okay." She suddenly pulled her lips off his neck and leaned back. When he opened his eyes, she was looking at him innocently with her arms crossed over her chest. Her halter straps were undone, and Claire batted her eyes.

Owen shook his head and clicked his tongue, "Devious." She shrugged her shoulders and gazed skyward. "Are we going to do this sort of thing in your office on Friday?"

"To an extent, but my clothes will stay on and intact."

"Aww, where's the fun in that?" Owen skillfully shifted her body to the sofa cushions and hovered above her, maintaining his position between her legs. He pinned her arms above her head as he admired her now exposed breasts. "You are luscious, Claire."

"You're not so bad yourself. Kiss me again." She didn't have to ask twice. Owen brought his lips to hers, wrapped his arms around her, and rolled them to lay on their sides. He knew he wasn't going to have sex with her tonight, so he kept it slow and tender. He didn’t want either of them getting too aroused. It still felt great - especially with her bare chest against him - and he could tell that feeling was mutual. After a while, Claire stopped kissing him and just snuggled into him, spent or simply contented. Owen didn't know what to make of it, but he surprisingly liked it. His breathing slowed. He felt so peaceful, he could've fallen asleep - maybe he did. He marveled at her effect on him.

"I should go," Claire eventually said. They sat up together as if attached. He caught a final glimpse of her breasts before helping her retie the straps of her dress. They walked out of his building holding hands, and Owen opened the car door for her. She leaned in to kiss him goodbye. When they broke apart, Claire said, "Best night since I've been here. Truly." She blushed and looked down. It hooked him more than her seductive behavior when she first arrived. "See you Friday." He watched her drive off. As soon as her car was out of sight, Owen heard his skeleton crew whistling and clapping behind him. He ignored them and turned his phone back on. There was a final text from Lowery: "You dirty dog."

* * *

Owen felt high for the next two days. He didn't care that the paddock staff were talking about him and Claire. He didn't care when Barry and Lowery teased him about his and hers hickeys. He wasn't thinking about Derek or the bet at all. Owen just wanted to see her again. He couldn't wait to make out with her in her office. He was able to persuade Claire over text to reveal her lunch preferences and brought them bowls from Yoshinoya at precisely 12:30 on Friday. Zara wasn't sitting at her desk when Owen walked down the hall, so he went straight to Claire's door. It was open, but he still knocked before walking inside and closing it behind him. She was sitting at her computer looking stressed.

"What's going on?" he asked with concern. Claire motioned for him to put the food bag on the table in front of her desk.

"The flight of a visiting VIP and his daughters was delayed," she sighed. "It's thrown off my schedule. I'm trying to re-arrange things." Owen walked behind her chair and started massaging her shoulders. He could feel her relaxing. "Careful. I might start summoning you to my office for this regularly." She put her hand over one of his for a brief moment before standing to kiss him. Owen made the kiss last as long as she'd allow it. He suddenly had no appetite for food. She moaned when she pulled away. "We should eat. I have so much to do this afternoon."

As they ate, Owen told her how grateful his paddock staff had been to attend the gala and what a good time they had. She told him she'd received similar positive feedback from her own staff.

"I think a lot of people were glad that I left," she said with annoyance.

"I certainly was," replied Owen with a smile. "What did you do with that dress?"

"Threw it away."

"That's a shame. Do you have it in any other colors?"

"No, but I could get it in another color. What would you suggest?"

"Red...for the Badgers." That made her laugh.

"So," she started nervously, "The Cowboys are playing the Saints on Sunday Night Football. Do you want to come over and watch?"

"You'd watch the Cowboys?" he teased.

"For you I would." She looked away with a wistful expression.

"What is it?"

"Me, caring about the 'Cowgirls.' My dad's probably rolling in his grave." She looked down and continued eating. Owen didn't know what to say. He had no clue if this was a big deal to Claire, but she did bring it up in a casual way. Fortunately, she moved on. "Thank you for bringing lunch."

"I'm sure that dress cost much more than this, so I feel like I still owe you."

"Well," she said with a huge grin, "in that case, I'll keep cashing in until you feel the debt is repaid."

"You just want to take advantage of me."

"I do." She smiled at him wantonly. "I don't even care about the dress. What you did...with your 'skillful hands' was such a turn-on.

"Too bad you wore pants today." Owen put his hand on her thigh.

"I told you. My clothes are staying on and intact." They were both breathing harder. Owen pushed away their bowls then lifted her out of her chair and sat her on the edge of the table. He stood between her legs and said, "Better range of motion in pants anyway." He leaned down and faked that he was aiming for her lips. Owen targeted her neck instead. Claire laughed, "You like me to feel embarrassed, don't you?"

"I'll let you do the same to me." He continued kissing her neck while his hands roved her body.

"How will I explain your marks to my VIP's young daughters?" Owen stopped her talking with his lips. He couldn't get enough of her acrobatic tongue. He was so focused on her mouth that he didn't realize what she was doing with her hands until he felt them on his bare chest.

"I thought clothes were staying on," he said between kisses.

"My clothes. Your shirt didn't come off Wednesday night." She was right. It was only fair. He almost cried out when she brought her lips and teeth to his nipples. This was surreal to him. First his office. Now, her office. Claire kept her mouth and hands above his waist and eventually returned to his lips. They needed to stop soon. He feared he'd lose control, and then her clothes wouldn't be on or intact.

"That's enough, Claire. Let's continue this Sunday night...or sooner if you can." He breathed out slowly with his eyes still closed.

"My itinerary with the VIP is strict," she said while re-buttoning his shirt. "Sunday night's the earliest." He opened his eyes and stroked the side of her face. She was worth the wait. "I'll walk with you to the elevator."

Zara was practically running toward Claire when they stepped out of her office into the hallway. She ignored Owen.

"The plane is finally airborne," the assistant said breathlessly.

"What's the ETA?" Claire asked.

"Six hours to San Jose."

Claire looked at her watch and groaned, "Will the girls still be up for the private Mosasaurus viewing tonight?"

"Yes, and I'll make sure the observatory staff get overtime. He wants to keep everything else in place for Saturday and Sunday."

"Okay." Claire took a deep breath and smiled through gritted teeth.

"Okay? Why aren't you more excited? It's Ronan weekend!" Zara regarded her with disbelief. Claire cleared her throat, raised her eyebrows, and cocked her head to one side. Owen had no idea what was going on. Zara finally acknowledged his presence and smiled cheekily.

"Am I missing something?" he asked, getting annoyed. Claire turned to him and said quickly, "My VIP this weekend is Ronan Keating."

"Who?"

Zara rolled her eyes and laughed, "It's easy to forget that most Americans don't know him when I spend so much time with this one." She elbowed Claire, who was avoiding Owen's eyes.

"Who's Ronan Keating?" Owen asked with rising agitation. Claire started to open her mouth, but Zara spoke first and fast, "He's an international pop star. Claire's been a huge fan since she lived on a military base in England in the '90s, when his boy band started."

"That's enough, Zara," Claire interrupted.

"What? It's nothing to be embarrassed about." Zara turned to Owen, "She's adorably snobby about American boy bands." She giggled and looked back at Claire, "No one compares, right? I like to think our mutual love of Boyzone bonds us together." Zara smiled sweetly at her boss. Claire looked like she might punch her in the face. Owen was fuming.

"So," he asked Zara, "What's on the itinerary for Claire and Ronan?"

Zara rambled excitedly, "Dinner Saturday night with him and his daughters - darling girls, who love Disney World but have never been here. One of them just had a birthday. I'll be watching them Sunday when Claire and Ronan play golf."

"He golfs, too?" Owen asked incredulously, staring at Claire.

"Yes," said Claire, finally looking at him. "I'm recruiting him for a charity pro-am that I'm organizing here."

"Just don't go correcting his swing...unless you want him to...feel it," he seethed. Claire glared at him.

"She won't need to," Zara interjected. "He's really good, and they've played together before."

"Not helping, Zara," Claire spat. She tugged on Owen's arm. "Can we talk in my office?" He groaned and followed her back inside. Claire shut the door and leaned against it. "What's the matter?"

"Why did you conceal the identity of your VIP?" he asked haughtily.

"You didn't even know who he was until two minutes ago! The name would've meant nothing to you."

"You have a long history with him."

Claire rolled her eyes and said sarcastically, "Yes. My entire life trajectory since I was thirteen has been specifically engineered to get into bed with Ronan Keating." She walked up to him and smiled. "C'mon, Owen, nothing's going on between me and him. Let's not spoil what's going on between you and me. I really like that you want me all to yourself." She leaned in to kiss him, but he pulled back. He was so jealous, he couldn't think straight. It bothered him that she called him out on being possessive - even if it turned her on. Owen wouldn't look at her when he asked, "You don't use your feminine wiles at events, but you'll use them with celebrities?"

"Oh, please," she scoffed, "That is not what I'm doing. Besides, he's into blondes."

"So was I until I met you." He looked at her angrily. Claire laughed through her blush. Owen couldn't stay mad at her. He was dazzled. Maybe that's why he was so angry. She could be doing that to other men. He did want it to be just for him. Owen sighed and put his arms around her waist. "My Saturday nights are lonely without you." He leaned down and kissed her tenderly. "Is he the same VIP who told you about the cottage?"

"Yes," she answered softly, "And he's a bit sore I took away his usual lodgings. It's why I'm taking him and the girls to dinner. That, and I actually do consider him a friend."

"Okay. Until Sunday Night Football then." Owen kissed her again before leaving her office and shutting the door behind him.

He stalked up to Zara's desk and spoke in a hushed tone, "What exactly are you playing at?" Owen knew she wasn't dumb or naive.

"I could ask you the same question," she answered flatly. He stared at her blankly, fighting hard not to reveal anything with his expression. Zara scoffed, "Maybe I should ask your...Eskimo Brother." Her smile was sinister. Owen sharpened his gaze at her. She laughed. "The night of the gala was very enlightening for me. I learned some fun vulgar terminology...I learned who's slept with who on the island and...who's friends with who."

"Are you going to tell Claire?" he asked sternly with a tightly clenched jaw.

"Not...yet. You passed my test." She paused to see if he would respond. Owen remained quiet. "You were jealous of Ronan Keating. Your 'Brother' was not. He was relieved, actually, to learn of her weekend plans." They stared at each other for a long moment. Zara sighed, "I was going to tell her if you both failed."

"I appreciate your discretion."

She shook her head, "You've lost me as your ally. I was rooting for you. Now, I'm just suspicious."

Owen said mockingly, "Enjoy your weekend...babysitting."

"I will - the girls are wonderful...just like their father." The side of her mouth curled up. Owen struggled to maintain his composure but managed to walk away from her desk without another word. As he headed to the elevator, he questioned what he was doing. Was this worth it? Could he get out of this? Should he just walk away completely? No, that would hurt her. He didn't want to hurt her. Owen looked back toward Claire's office door and felt an ache in his chest. It was an unfamiliar feeling. He packed it away and got in the elevator. He'd think about it later...after he Googled Ronan Keating.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The jealousy may get a little ugly (life is a rollercoaster), but Owen needs to feel it. I toyed with making Zara nastier - to deserve her "fate" - but changed my mind. Please leave a comment.


	6. Green-Eyed Monster

On Friday night, Owen found himself falling into a black hole of internet searches on Ronan Keating. His descent was fueled by jealousy and tequila. Ronan was only two years older than him but already had a fifteen year old son and was amidst a divorce. Other than cheating on his wife - both women were blondes, as Claire intimated - the guy was as "wonderful" as Zara said he was. He was in a boy band initially but became an accomplished solo artist and award-winning songwriter. He even wrote a country song that Owen remembered listening to in college. For the last decade, Ronan was extensively involved in charity work, from marathons to climbing Mount Kilimanjaro to swimming across bodies of water, and had even named a cancer foundation after his mother. He'd also sung for the Pope! Owen didn't know if it was fatigue, tequila or both, but he started to think there was a vague physical resemblance between them. He finally stopped reading when seeing more recent photos of Ronan with facial hair made him feel like he was looking into a blond, Irish mirror.

The next day, Owen worked an extra-long shift at the paddock. He hoped keeping himself busy would distract him from thinking about Claire and Ronan. It worked to a certain extent. By 8pm, however, he was ready to return to the comfort of tequila. Unfortunately, Owen drank it all at his bungalow the night before. He decided to go to Main Street rather than just buying another bottle. He could distract himself by looking at other women. Maybe he'd even catch a glimpse of Claire with Ronan and his daughters. No, he denied that motivated his decision at all.

Sunrio was too crowded and loud, and the smaller bar where he first met Claire was full of employees. Owen preferred to lose himself in a place mostly populated by park guests that also served food. He eventually found himself "wastin' away" at Margaritaville, left alone at the end of the bar to people watch. Margaritaville also happened to be across the street from Winston's. From his vantage point, Owen could see the steakhouse's front door. He knew that's where Claire was - he saw it briefly on her computer screen when he was giving her the shoulder massage yesterday - but denied again that he cared to see her tonight.

As Owen downed his fifth tequila shot and finished his dinner, he felt a hand on his shoulder followed by a familiar voice.

"Why so gloomy?" it asked sympathetically.

"Hi, Lara," he answered with a slight slur. Owen didn't turn to face her, so she leaned her back against the bar to enter his sight line. Lara was wearing a short red dress, sporting deep red lipstick, and smelling like cheap perfume. He looked away from her.

"Where's the Senior Assets Manager tonight?" she taunted.

"Out with another guy," replied Owen, without emotion and still avoiding her gaze.

"She's a fool." He snorted and finally looked at her. Lara was seductively biting a fingernail and smiling at him.

"What do you want, Lara?"

"To finish what we started."

"Not gonna happen. You made your choice."

"It was the wrong choice." She rubbed small circles on the exposed skin of his forearm with her fingers.

"Stop it. Not interested." Lara was starting to affect him physically. Owen stood and walked to the restroom without looking back at her. Outside of being confused about the situation with Claire, he was not about to reinforce his being Eskimo brothers with Derek by sleeping with Lara. It was bad enough that they'd both had sex with Sophie Alexander. He wondered if Sophie herself had blabbed that to Zara at the gala. Owen couldn't imagine who else would still be talking about it over a year later. He pictured Sophie seated next to Zara anyway - another reason for strong words with the event planner - since she was still the assistant to the PR director and now engaged to ACU Commander Austin. Zara and Sophie seemed like ideal dinner companions on paper. Owen didn't enjoy revisiting his memories about Sophie. Before Claire, no one had enchanted him like Sophie did...until it became clear that she was using both him and Derek. Maybe other men, too. Owen didn't want to consider that then or now.

He shifted focus to his current predicament. He assumed that Lara would be waiting for him when he came out of the restroom. Owen needed to sleep off his mental fog, but he wasn't sober enough to drive. He knew Lowery was still working and didn't want to wait until after park closing to try to get home. Lowery was already annoyed that they wouldn't be watching the game tomorrow. He'd given Owen a ribbing over being "replaced" by Claire. Absent of other options, Owen texted Barry: "Are you playing skee-ball?" He waited a few minutes before leaving the bathroom.

A few steps out the door, Lara was there. She did not hesitate to throw herself at him. Before Owen could resist, Lara's tongue was in his mouth and her hands were pressing against his chest. He momentarily considered if kissing another woman might help his confusion about Claire and reciprocated her advance. Lara responded instantly by pulling him into her. This did help his confusion: it made him want Claire. He missed her taste, her tongue, her smell - all of her, actually. He simultaneously wondered what he ever saw in Lara and if Claire had ruined him for lesser women. Owen pulled away from Lara and went back to the bar to settle his bill.

He stumbled out onto Main Street and heard his text tone. Barry was indeed at Dave & Buster's. Owen practically ran there and averted his eyes from Winston's as he passed the door. He hoped that Claire didn't see him. Barry was playing skee-ball and laughed when Owen appeared next to him.

"Where's Claire?" he asked with a huge grin on his face.

"Having dinner with a VIP...Ronan Keating," Owen answered bitterly.

"Ronan Keating's on the island?" Barry asked with raised eyebrows, clearly impressed.

Owen groaned and threw his hands in the air, "Does everyone know who is but me?" Barry shook his head before rolling a skee-ball up his lane. When he turned back to Owen, he was still grinning broadly.

Owen was really peeved. "What is it?" he practically growled. "And why did you ask about Claire?"

"You're wearing someone's lipstick."

"Fuck," Owen exclaimed before vigorously wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

"You got it all," crowed Barry. "Whose was it?"

"Lara," Owen reluctantly admitted while avoiding eye contact with his co-worker.

"Zut alors! How did that happen?"

Owen sighed, "I was making bad choices."

"Why?" Barry was being bolder with his questions than usual. Owen wondered if Barry was taking advantage of his inebriated state.

"I'm thinking about breaking things off with Claire."

"What happened?"

"I don't know if I want to compete with Derek again."

"Are you serious?" scoffed Barry. "Claire left the gala for you. Don't worry about him. No one is talking about Derek and her. It's all you-"

"Maybe I don't like that either," Owen interrupted him. It was true. Hearing it from Lara only proved how widely word had spread.

"And it has nothing to do with being jealous of Ronan Keating?" Barry asked shrewdly.

Owen breathed out and closed his eyes, "Is it that obvious?"

"It's pretty obvious." Barry chuckled and put a hand on Owen's shoulder. "You're getting attached," he added, matter-of-fact.

"Is that a good thing or a bad thing?"

"Depends." Barry rolled another skee-ball then stated without humor, "If that's not what you want, maybe you should end it...before it's too late."

"Too late for what?" Owen asked with concern. Barry was quiet and stared at him with an expectant expression. Owen eventually raised his eyebrows and shook his head in bewilderment.

Barry rolled his eyes, "I get it." One side of his mouth curled up. "You've never been in love."

"What? No," Owen adamantly denied. "That is not what is happening here." He felt the urge to tell Barry about the bet, to explain away his co-worker's suspicions. He stopped himself - no one can know that Claire is just a mark. The way Barry was looking at him also made Owen believe that he'd suspect the same even if he knew about the bet. "No, Barry, I'm not..." His voice changed to a whisper. "Falling in love with Claire Dearing." He looked at him dismissively.

Barry laughed, "Methinks you protest too much." He backed off and rolled one more skee-ball before asking, "So, you need a ride home, don't you?"

"Yes," Owen answered sheepishly.

"De rien. I'm working tomorrow anyway." He tore off the tickets he earned from the machine.

"Can you give me a ride back to my bike in the morning, too? I'll split tomorrow's shift with you."

"Deal."

* * *

Owen was at the raptor paddock when Claire called him at 6pm, thirty minutes before kick-off. He sighed when her name appeared on his caller ID. He was still seriously considering pulling out of the bet and cutting her out of his life. Sleeping it off had not cleared his confusion. Owen wasn't comfortable with people talking about them, and he certainly wasn't comfortable with people thinking he was becoming attached to her. He spent the majority of the day trying not to confront the truly challenging questions that kept him awake the night before. Did he only feel uncomfortable because of the bet? Was he becoming attached to her? Owen had to admit to himself that Derek's words from their rules of engagement phone call haunted him. If he was developing real feelings for Claire and told Derek, Derek could "take it into consideration" or double-down on his efforts with her.

He tried to sound as normal as possible when he answered her call, "What's up?"

"I'm so sorry about this, Owen, but there's an emergency. I can't make the start of the game. I'm hoping to get it resolved by the second half. I'll call you." Claire sounded genuinely upset. He couldn't tell if she was upset about missing the game with him, the park emergency, or a combination of both.

"It's okay, Claire. I'm sorry about the emergency. I hope you can sort it out."

"Thank you for understanding." She sounded relieved. "It's not something I'm used to dealing with - no analogous situations when I was at Disney. I'm sorry again." He thought the conversation was over and was about to hang up, but she started stammering. "Owen, I...um...just wanted to say...my Saturday nights are lonely without you, too." This made him feel very good to hear.

"See you later, Claire." Owen hung up first. He was trying to play it cool and detached. In keeping with that, he decided not to wait around for her call. Within five minutes, he successfully orchestrated the reversion to his original plan of watching the game at Lowery's. If Claire called him later and was free, Owen figured that neither she nor Lowery would be up for watching the game together. It was perfect. He could put off dealing with the situation for at least another day and enjoy watching his team without distractions.

Owen's plan worked initially. The Cowboys were playing well, and - aside from teasing him once about noticing fresh hickeys on Friday afternoon - Lowery didn't say anything about Claire. Near the end of the second quarter, however, Lowery casually asked, "Who is Ronan Keating? Claire, Zara, and Vivian were all atwitter about him yesterday."

"Well, I'm glad you didn't know either," Owen groaned. "Vivian, too, huh?" Vivian was the new park monitor who came to Jurassic World with Claire from Disney. Lowery told Owen all about her when they played video games the previous weekend. He was openly smitten but told Owen that he planned to let things evolve naturally between them in a " _When Harry Met Sally_ kind of way."

"Yeah," Lowery sighed, "I felt like a peeping Tom at a slumber party listening to their conversation."

"Why didn't you ask Vivian when it was just the two of you working?" queried Owen.

"Because I pretended to know who he was when the three of them were talking. I didn't want them to think I was an idiot in case he was some legit VIP."

"Claire told me he's been here before. You'd never heard his name mentioned?"

"Maybe. I only pay attention to the VIPs if they're heads of state or huge movie stars who make operations more complicated."

"Why not Google him?" Owen's defensiveness leaked out. "Why ask me?"

Lowery smiled mischievously, "Because I overheard that Claire was having dinner with him last night, and I wondered who was your 'consolation prize' while I was working."

"I was at Dave & Buster's with Barry," Owen said quickly. It wasn't a lie.

"Exactly how drunk were you?" Lowery knew him too well. Owen didn't have to answer. "You Googled him, didn't you?"

"Yes."

"Let me guess," Lowery said mockingly, "He's totes amazing."

"Pretty much," Owen relented then added smugly, "Except for cheating on his wife - the mother of his three children - with a back-up dancer."

"You're being pretty judgey," Lowery teased. "How old is he?"

"Thirty-seven," Owen said through gritted teeth.

"Wow, young guy and obviously virile."

Owen groaned and rolled his eyes, "Why are you giving me a hard time about this?"

"Because it's fun to see you squirm. That and the jealousy makes you more human."

"Can we drop it?"

"Okay. I'm just glad you weren't totally evasive about him like you were about Derek." Owen looked away from his friend and focused on the TV. He kept his expression blank. Lowery resumed watching the game as well. The Cowboys were up 17 to zero, and this would normally make Owen really happy. Unfortunately, he was struggling with the mounting guilt about keeping secrets from his friends. All weekend, he'd been questioning whether or not the bet was a mistake from the beginning. The facade was getting too difficult to maintain. As if on cue, Owen's phone rang.

"Do you want me to take it in the kitchen?" he asked Lowery.

"No, it's fine," his friend replied, "Two-minute warning anyway."

Owen took a deep breath before answering, "Hi, Claire." He could see Lowery smiling out of his periphery.

"I resolved the situation as much as I can," she said hurriedly. Owen could tell that she was driving. "Do you want to meet back at my place in twenty minutes?"

"Actually," he said calmly, "I'm watching the game with a buddy, and I can't drive right now." Lowery's jaw dropped. They both knew it was a lie. Owen had been nursing the same beer for the entire first half.

"Oh," Claire understood his meaning. "Are you home or at his place?"

"His place."

"Is it a big get-together?"

"No, just the two of us."

"Can I join you?" Owen could tell she was eager to see him. She was loud enough even for Lowery to hear. Owen raised his eyebrows and looked to Lowery, who simply shrugged his shoulders and nodded. Owen was silently unnerved by this reaction. He cleared his throat before answering Claire, "Sure, but you should know that my buddy is Lowery."

"Cruthers?" she asked with mild alarm. Owen smiled on the inside. She was going to balk. "Well, if he's okay with it. I have his address. See you shortly." Claire hung up. Owen was floored but tried not to show it. Lowery chuckled.

"Why did you agree to allowing her over?" asked Owen, turning to his friend. Lowery was grinning, "I was curious if she'd say yes...as a marker for how badly she wanted to see you."

"And you don't mind?" Owen was incredulous.

"Not unless you two start going at it on my sofa," he teased. "Then, you will have to leave." Owen was quiet and didn't even crack a smile at this. Lowery regarded him with confusion. "Don't you want to see her?"

"Of course," Owen stammered, "But...I mean...she's your boss."

"We're both obviously fine with it - more so than you, apparently. What gives?"

"Nothing. I'm just really surprised, that's all."

"Right." Lowery clearly didn't buy it. "You want to chug another beer...or two real quick to support your fib? Or soothe your 'surprise'?" This was not a bad idea. Owen took him up on it.

When Claire knocked on the door, Owen got up to open it. She flashed him an adoring smile. It made him feel terrible for both lying to her and drinking two beers so quickly. Claire was wearing another adorable golf outfit. She glanced into the apartment before leaning in to kiss him. Owen opened his mouth only slightly, and she pulled back with mild disgust.

"Blech, what kind of beer are you and Lowery drinking?" she asked with a grimace.

"Guinness." He smiled at her, and it was genuine. He was happy to see her - there was no confusion about that. Owen could tell that she was a little hesitant to walk into the apartment.

"Hi, Lowery," she called nervously.

"Hey, Claire, make yourself at home." She looked around the kitchen, and Owen thought she seemed very "judgey," as Lowery described him earlier. It made him laugh.

"What?" she whispered.

"You," he smirked, "Here." Owen went back to his seat on the opposite end of the sofa from Lowery. Claire sat awkwardly on the cushion between them.

"Thanks for letting me join you," she said.

"No problem," answered Lowery, very relaxed and seeming to enjoy her reaction. "You want a beer, Claire?"

"No, that's okay."

"She's a Michelob Ultra snob," Owen teased. Just then, he saw Claire pulling a small bottle out of her pocket. "Is that a mini-bottle of gin?" he asked in mock surprise.

"Party foul," Lowery exclaimed. "Did you bring some for us?"

She groaned then arrogantly declared, "It's too late for you two. Beer before liquor, never been sicker." Claire opened the bottle and drank it in practically one gulp. Owen was impressed.

"Slow down there, Claire," Lowery joked. "It must have been SOME emergency this evening."

She coughed and gagged slightly before answering, "Yeah...paddock 11."

Lowery made a face, "Again?"

"I swear that place is gonna be the death of me." She shook her head and smoothed out her hair. "No more talking about work." Owen was curious but honored her wish. They all settled into watching the game. Owen was feeling buzzed from the beer and having Claire so close. Things seemed much less complicated when she was near enough to touch. He stretched out his arm across the back of the sofa, so that his fingertips could ruffle her hair. She tilted her head slightly in his direction and slowly moved her fingers across the cushion to the side of his thigh.

"Oh my God," Lowery startled them. "Would you stop being freaks about this? You're making me feel like a dance chaperone in a teen movie. Just shove over there into him. It would give me more space anyway." He stood up and walked to his bathroom. Owen laughed as he put his arm around Claire and drew her to him. She pulled up to kiss him quickly before settling into his side. He felt himself relaxing for the first time in over two days.

At some point, Claire appeared to have fallen asleep. Neither Owen nor Lowery could tell for sure. Lowery made mockingly cutesy faces as Owen watched her slow, steady breathing. She looked so beautiful. He caught Lowery making a gagging gesture when he glanced up. Owen mouthed to him, "Jealous." Lowery just shook his head and smiled.

When the game ended, Lowery went to the kitchen to clean up. Claire was still sleeping against Owen, but her eyes flew open after Lowery knocked a couple of beer cans onto the floor. He winced and apologized.

"You really should put a trash can at the end of your counter," Claire said while stretching out. "I didn't even see one in the kitchen."

"It's under the sink," Lowery said defensively.

"Lot of good it's doing there," Claire teased. She smiled at Owen. "Hey, thanks for letting me sleep."

"Sure thing," Owen replied then added with slight bitterness, "You've had a busy day." She made a face at him, and he regretted his tone. Seeing her in her golf get-up just reminded him of Ronan Keating. He supposed she would've changed if they'd watched the game at her house. "Sorry. I worked both days this weekend, too."

"Will you come over for Thursday Night Football?"

Before Owen could answer her, Lowery was hovering over them and said, "I won't fight you for him, Claire, but I'll remember it the next time he wants to watch the Cowboys here." Claire looked between them with confusion. Owen was stifling a laugh. Then, the realization dawned on her, "Heaven help me, you're a Vikings fan." They all laughed together. She stood up and thanked Lowery again for allowing her over. As she headed toward his door, Lowery put his hand on Owen's shoulder and whispered, "Get out of here."

Owen caught up to Claire and followed her into the hallway. Taking hold of her hand, he said, "I was already planning on Thursday Night Football with you. Zara gave me a head's up."

"That surprises me," Claire replied with a half-smile. "She doesn't seem too keen on you." Owen laughed it off, "She probably just wants to see you get together with Ronan." He didn't want to invoke the other man's name but couldn't figure out what else to say without raising further suspicion. They had walked into the stairwell, and Owen was about to start his descent when Claire pulled him back. She put her hands on his chest and said reassuringly, "You don't have to worry about her...or Ronan. I'm very keen on you." Owen closed his eyes - expecting her to lean in and kiss him - but she faked him out and went down the stairs instead. Her tease made him want her more. He became hyper-focused on making out with her before they parted ways for the night.

As soon as they were outside the building, Owen stepped in front of her and enveloped her with his arms. Claire didn't hesitate to open her mouth to him when he brought his lips to hers. The kiss was soft, deep and wet. He didn't know how long they were standing in the parking lot, but the world fell away. His mind was clear. He couldn't let her go, not yet...maybe not ever. At any other point in the weekend, such a thought would've scared him. In this moment, however, it was self-evident. Owen didn't want to push away the thought any more than he wanted to push her off his lips. When she finally pulled back, he was breathless. Claire smiled at him with clear satisfaction.

"See you Thursday," she whispered. Owen was still dazed and frozen in place by the time she started her car's engine. He waved to her weakly before she drove off. His reverie was broken by his text tone. It was from Lowery: "Now THAT, my friend, is something to be jealous of." Owen looked up and saw Lowery signaling to him from a window. He wrote back sarcastically, "Peeping Tom."

"It's my lot in life," Lowery answered then disappeared out of view. Owen was too contented to care if anyone else saw them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. This chapter was shorter than the last few because I liked ending it sweetly (rather than continuing to a dramatic cliffhanger) after the angst.


	7. My Fair Lady

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “I was serenely independent and content before we met  
> Surely I could always be that way again  
> And yet  
> I've grown accustomed to her look  
> Accustomed to her voice  
> Accustomed to her face”  
> \- Henry Higgins

Owen stayed in a good mood all week. He threw himself into work and felt free of insecurities. He wasn't moved to contact Claire, and it didn't bother him that she wasn't more communicative. They were both busy and important. He was confident in a way he'd never previously experienced with a woman. He had a sense that they understood each other. No longer checking his phone and email repeatedly during the day, life was getting back to normal for him. Owen still looked immensely forward to spending both Thursday and Saturday nights with Claire. He just wasn't anxious about it. He daydreamed about how far she'd be willing to go on Thursday. Although he really enjoyed kissing her, he was ready for much more.

Thursday was a particularly long and rough day at the raptor paddock. The pack was extra defiant and testing the structural integrity of entry points, great and small. Owen had planned to change at home before going to Claire's house for the game. He looked at his watch and realized that he would be late, regardless. He texted her an apology and that he would leave the paddock for her house as soon as possible.

When Claire opened her front door for him, her ear was pressed to her phone. She motioned him inside and laughed coquettishly at whoever was on the other end. Owen huffed. He had raced over to her place and was looking forward to her Packers game arrangement with Zara about no phone calls. He took off his boots and turned toward her impatiently.

"Okay, Roger," she said happily, "He's finally here." Owen rolled his eyes before Claire surprised him by holding out the phone in his direction. She nodded and mouthed, "For you." She flashed him a brilliant smile.

"Hello?" Owen answered nervously.

"Hi, Owen, this is Roger Staubach." Owen stopped breathing and stared at Claire. She was stifling laughter. He cleared his throat and looked back at her with awe. She rubbed his shoulder before heading toward her sofa.

"Hi...Mr. Staubach. This is completely unexpected."

"Please, call me Roger. Claire told me it would be a surprise." Owen couldn't believe that legendary Dallas Cowboys quarterback, Pro Football Hall of Famer, US Naval Academy graduate, and Vietnam War veteran Roger Staubach was talking to him. "First off, Owen, thank you for your service."

Owen stammered, "And thank you...as well...for your service...to our country and America's Team."

"Claire tells me you're doing exciting and dangerous work there at Jurassic World."

"The first of its kind, for sure." Owen's heart rate was normalizing, and he could speak without stumbling over his words. "It's challenging most days, including today. It's why I was late. I'm sorry." He looked toward Claire when he said it, apologizing to them both. "I love every minute though. It was certainly worth leaving the Navy for."

"I know all about that. You have to follow your passion. You can't be the officer the Navy needs you to be if your heart is elsewhere."

"My last assignment in San Diego did, actually, involve animal intelligence research, but there were a lot of strings attached."

"I understand implicitly." Owen could hear the other man laughing softly. "Don't tell Claire, but I think the smarter officers don't make a career out of it. There's so much more to life than satisfying the higher ups."

"Agreed," Owen answered as he looked over at Claire. She was watching the game intensely. As exciting as it was to be talking to Roger Staubach, Owen craved her warmth and passion. "My loyalty is to my raptors and my guys. That guides and grounds me every day. I take responsibility for all the lives in my paddock."

"Glad to hear it. That sense of responsibility can be daunting at times, I'm sure. I continue to work as hard as I do because I feel responsible for my company and all its employees. I'm not ready for it to be any other way." Owen knew that Roger Staubach had been a real estate tycoon for decades and recently read that he was the highest-paid retired NFL player. "Well, it was nice chatting with you, but I know she's been waiting. Take care of yourself...and take care of her."

"It was a thrill to talk to you. Thank you."

"Thank her. She got my number under the auspices of recruiting me for her pro-am golf tournament, but she just talked about you." Owen blushed and glanced in her direction. There must have been a game break because she was looking at him warmly. "Good night, Owen."

"Good night, sir." He turned off the ringer of her phone and put it in the same kitchen cabinet where she left it the last time he was there. Owen couldn't get to her fast enough. He picked her up, spun her around, and kissed her soundly. He would've fucked her right there on her sofa if he thought she'd allow it. "Thank you," he said, pulling away from her mouth and hugging her tightly. "You're amazing."

"I try," Claire said humbly.

"You succeed." Owen stroked her cheek with the back of his hand. She blushed, and he kissed her again.

"Owen," she cleared her throat and scrunched her nose, "you reek...I mean, your shirt reeks."

"I'll take it off," he said delightedly while stepping back to unbutton it. He could see the effect this action had on Claire as her breathing heaved. Owen wrapped his arms back around her after throwing his shirt on the floor. "Better?" He teasingly brushed his lips against hers, and she closed her eyes before letting out a soft moan.

Claire swallowed hard and finally sputtered, "Do you want to stay like that the rest of the night?" Owen wanted to joke - or not joke - about taking off the rest of his clothes. Even though he was ready to have sex with her, he didn't want her to feel like he was forcing anything.

"Have anything in mind?" he taunted.

"My Favre jersey would fit you," said Claire, opening her eyes and grinning deviously. She wasn't wearing the jersey herself tonight and was, instead, sporting a pink camisole and yoga pants. Owen preferred this look to the jersey, and it reminded him of what she wore when they played pool.

"You have no other men's shirts?" he groaned and complained in jest. He wasn't thrilled about wearing a Packers jersey, but he would stomach it for her. It would probably turn her on, too. Owen then realized that she was looking away from him and had gone cold. "What is it?" he asked with concern.

"Nothing," Claire said so softly that she was barely audible. She pulled out of his embrace and picked his shirt off the floor. "I'll wash this for you." She walked to her laundry closet. Owen debated asking a follow-up question. He was upset with himself for somehow spoiling the mood but worried that further inquiry would make things worse. For all he knew, she was holding on to clothes from some ex-boyfriend or her dead father. He suddenly felt like an asshole for being more concerned with getting laid than getting to know her.

Owen walked up to her after she started the washing machine. He took one of her hands and kissed it, saying, "You didn't have to wash it."

"I know," she sighed, "I'm just succeeding at being amazing." She stood on her tiptoes to kiss him gently. "Your body is amazing. Unreal, actually, and very distracting." Claire smiled at him before walking into her bedroom and pulling the jersey out of a dresser drawer. As she passed it to him, she said pertly, "You can let me take it off you later." He wondered how much later that would be. She waited for him on the sofa, and they assumed the same positions from the first game they watched there.

It was already halfway through the second quarter, and the Packers were leading 21 to zero. Owen was happy and relaxed. They traded amiable barbs about each other's teams. As the quarter was winding down, he worked his fingers under the fabric of the camisole at her hip. She responded by massaging circles on the top of his thigh. Before halftime started, he was pushing her underneath him and pinning her to the sofa cushions. She felt so good, smelled so good, tasted so good. He propped himself up on his elbows and knees so as not to crush her. When her hands started roaming his mid-section, Owen moved his mouth to her neck. He didn't feel the need to leave marks this time around but planted kisses all over her exposed skin.

"Owen," she pleaded while pushing gently against his chest, "slow down." Claire squirmed beneath him as if uncomfortable. He was almost panting when he pulled his head up to look at her. "It doesn't have to be so frenzied," she smirked. "No one's going to interrupt us." She ran a finger down the middle of his chest. "I want to savor you." She playfully rubbed the tip of her nose against his. "There's plenty of time tonight and..." Her voice trailed off.

"What?" Owen asked breathlessly.

"Saturday," she stammered while avoiding his gaze.

"Oh, right." He wasn't convinced that's what she meant to say. No matter. He was perfectly fine slowing it down for her. She was right. It wasn't like the other times they'd made out. They could take their time. He still planned to test her boundaries with his hands and looked forward to when she'd take the jersey off him. They sat up on the sofa and resumed kissing. Owen let Claire savor him and vice versa. He particularly enjoyed her sucking his earlobes, and she seemed to favor his tickling around her belly button. It was wildly erotic despite not being his usual style. Similar to the time on his office sofa, she gradually ceased her movements and simply cuddled with him. Just as before, he liked it. He held her close to him as the second half of the game started.

Sometime between Green Bay's first and second touchdowns of the third quarter, she started talking about Wisconsin. It led to their sharing stories about the worst winters they experienced - his few in Boston didn't seem quite as bad - and their mutual love of water parks. She couldn't convince him that any of the parks at the Wisconsin Dells were better than Schlitterbahn in South Texas, but he marveled at her passion for them and how this contributed to her desire to work for Disney. Claire managed to get him talking about his passion for marine biology and how he decided Boston University was the best.

They watched until the very end of the game, even after it became clear that the Packers couldn't lose. Claire told him that her dad instilled in her the importance of sticking things out until they were over - a "pervasive sense of dedication" that she applied to all things in life. Owen noticed that she didn't appear sad mentioning him and mused, "You're carrying on his legacy."

"I try," she said with a faint blush.

"I'm certain you succeed." He gave her a come hither look, and she crawled into his lap. She straddled him just as she did on his office sofa. Claire rested her hands on his chest and said, "You're unreal." Her look was a mix of sweet and sultry. "How'd I get so lucky?"

"What do you mean?" asked Owen, running his hands under the camisole and up her sides.

"Finding each other the way we did...in that billiards room. I don't know how we'd have met otherwise."

"That was pretty lucky." He wanted to get lucky and knew his gaze conveyed his desire for her. Claire crushed her lips to his, and it was not gentle. It was frenzied once again. He pulled down the straps of her camisole, and she put her hands on his abdomen beneath the jersey.

"Do you want to be exclusive?" she asked between kisses. Owen's heart rate went from racing to almost stopping. Abruptly put on the spot, he worried that an affirmative answer violated the bet's rules of engagement.

"It's kind of early for that," he said dismissively. It was a knee-jerk response that he immediately regretted. Claire froze then leaned back and looked down.

"Of course...you're right," she sighed while pulling up her straps. "We haven't even gone out on a date." She got out of his lap and walked to her kitchen. She fumbled with a cabinet door and stammered, "I just thought...after last weekend...forget it."

Owen felt stunned. He couldn't believe what he said - it was something akin to a Freudian slip. He hadn't been thinking about the bet for days. He was just thinking about having sex with Claire. He supposed that sex and the bet were too entwined in his brain, consciously or unconsciously. As Owen regained his mental capabilities, he recognized that they both sidestepped giving each other a yes or no answer. He did want to be exclusive. Aside from his usually not dating more than one woman at a time, he knew from his reaction to Ronan Keating's visit that he didn't want to imagine her with anyone else. Judging from her current behavior, it was clear that Claire wanted to be exclusive, or, at least, she wanted him to want exclusivity. He felt like it was too late to take back his words and cursed himself. When he finally stood up from the sofa, she was already scrolling through her phone and wouldn't look at him. Owen kissed her goodbye, but she didn't open her mouth. It felt wrong. That unfamiliar ache in his chest came back. He drove home in a daze.

As he walked into his bungalow, he realized that he was still wearing Claire's Favre jersey. Owen pulled it off and could smell her vanilla on the front of it. He felt that ache again. He suddenly realized that he didn't know her Friday night plans. Despite being on her schedule - after eight - on Saturday, he was gripped with worry that she was seeing Derek tomorrow. Perhaps it's why she asked about exclusivity. Owen then wondered if Claire wanted traditional dates with him. He really liked how things were developing between them. Although he was initially actively avoiding taking her out on dates, the way they spent time together just seemed natural and comfortable now. Owen felt thoroughly frustrated. He needed to get laid, but he didn't want anyone except Claire.

* * *

All-day Friday, Owen ruminated on calling Claire and recanting his statement. He mostly felt like an idiot. Bet or no bet, he lied to her and deviated from his normal behaviors. Another thought, however, intermittently rattled around in his brain and gave him mixed emotions. What if she slept with Derek tonight? Owen would lose the bet, but it would be over. Derek would stop pursuing her. Claire would be his and his alone. He could see her without his decisions being clouded by the bet. Maybe driving Claire into the bed of another man could be a short-term pain for a long-term gain. It seemed rational, but it made Owen nauseous. How could he want that? He was disgusted by himself.

Barry noticed that Owen was out of sorts and asked if he was okay. Owen just said he hadn't slept well. It wasn't a lie. Seeing Barry's concerned face reminded him of the other man's warning about ending it "before it's too late." Owen wondered if it was indeed too late. Claire had him twisted up in knots. He wanted to blame it all on the bet, but that was a cop-out. The problem was he couldn't confide in anyone. Lowery and Barry would judge him. Hell, he judged himself.

Friday night rolled around, and a solution dawned on Owen: tell Claire about the bet. She might never want to see him again, but at least his conscience would be clean. That, and she wouldn't find out about it from anyone else. As he resigned himself to this solution, his chest ached to the point of actual physical pain. Owen grasped for alternative plans, and the only obvious option was to talk to Derek. He could appeal to the other man's good nature. Strike that. Derek didn't have a good nature. They had been friends at one point. Maybe Derek would step aside for him. No, Owen knew Derek too well. There would have to be an incentive to do so. What if he offered Derek the "prize" of their bet? Owen could swallow his pride and permit Derek to bring a date to the raptor paddock. He would then be choosing Claire over his raptors. Was she worth it? Didn't he already choose her over them by accepting the bet in the first place? These were questions he couldn't answer easily.

Owen slept on it. Saturday morning, he determined that there was a third option: sleep with Claire tonight. That would truly solve the whole problem. It was a little faster than he usually moved with a woman - especially one he'd never taken out on a date - but he'd been making exceptions for Claire left and right. Why stop now? He could hit third base on his way to home plate. This wasn't just about getting laid, he told himself. This would get him everything he wanted. Who cares if they left things on a chilly note Thursday? Owen was totally prepared to sweep her off her feet and into her bed. He wasn't even deterred by her less than enthusiastic text message on Saturday afternoon: "I'll be working until 8. Do you want me to meet you somewhere when I finish?"

"No," replied Owen, "I have a surprise for you. I want to bring it to your place." He didn't use emojis but almost broke from another of his usual patterns to end his text with one. He was feeling very enthusiastic about tonight.

"Okay," she wrote, "I'll let you know when I'm leaving."

Owen knocked on Claire's door at 8:30pm. When she opened it, he had to suppress a groan. She was wearing her glasses, a baggy t-shirt, and sweatshorts. "Fuck," he thought to himself, "This is a break-up outfit." His heart started to pound. Claire didn't look happy to see him either. Maybe she expected him to take her out on a proper date tonight and was disappointed. Owen took a deep breath and decided to stay on course. He was confident she'd enjoy her surprise and that it would be the first step to getting her in bed tonight. She pointed to the bag he was carrying and asked bitingly, "Did you bring back my jersey?"

"Oh, sorry," he answered truthfully, "I forgot." She looked annoyed as she shut her front door behind him. What the hell was wrong with her? He didn't want to believe it had anything to do with him and tried to convince himself that she'd just had a bad day. "This is your surprise." Owen opened his bag and removed the Nintendo 64 console, controllers, cables, and original _Goldeneye_ game. "I even have an adaptor in case it isn't directly compatible with your TV." He beamed with pride. He was genuinely excited by this gesture. Claire bit her lip and stared at him blankly for a moment. Then, she started to cry - so much that she had to take off her glasses. Owen's eyes widened in utter confusion. After what seemed like an eternity, she put her arms around his waist and buried her face in his chest. He didn't hesitate to return the embrace. She stopped crying and took a deep breath.

"That's the most thoughtful thing anyone's ever done for me," said Claire, sniffling. "Thank you."

"You're very welcome," Owen sighed. He could feel himself blushing.

"Owen, I want to be exclusive. If you don't-"

"I do, Claire."

"Then, why?"

"I can't explain it." He was being honest. "You didn't say you did...until now."

"I was so mad at you. I second-guessed it when you didn't say yes."

"I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry." She sounded like she might start crying anew.

"For what?" Owen asked with alarm in his voice. Claire leaned back and stretched the collar of her t-shirt, exposing the right side of her neck. She had a fresh hickey, and her neck was turning red with embarrassment. He was angry, not with Claire but with himself. He allowed it to happen. Owen didn't need or want her to elaborate on the details, but his imagination went wild. His jealousy over Ronan Keating paled in comparison to what he felt in this moment - he was simmering with rage. Claire took his face in her hands and kissed him gently.

"That's as far as I allowed it to go," she whispered. "I wanted to make you mad. I was going to see if you'd find it." She breathed out and leaned her forehead against his. "That would've been cruel...wrong. I changed my mind and tried to push you away before you did. Hence, the glasses...the sweatshorts." She pulled back from him.

"You'd be sexy in anything, Claire." He was calming down. "I just thought you were upset that I wasn't taking you out."

"Sometime you can," she smiled. "Your surprise is better for tonight...and, in general, it's more...'us.'" She was right. Going on dates was not their thing. Maybe it never would be. He liked it that way, too. She grinned devilishly. "You are going down tonight." Owen did a double-take, pulled his mind out of the gutter, and realized that she was eyeing the _Goldeneye_ game.

Claire excused herself to put in her contact lenses while Owen set up the Nintendo 64. It arrived as a bundle in the mail earlier in the week. He tested it to make sure it worked but didn't play the game itself. He wanted to play with Claire first. He wasn't planning to be overly aggressive to win, but he wouldn't try to lose. Owen had played the remake version with Lowery and almost immediately decided against taking that to her place. It was too different from the original, and he didn't want Claire to be disappointed. Lowery agreed with his plan and joked that she was a snob about everything anyway. When Owen texted Lowery that the bundle was delivered, Lowery wrote back: "The romantic comedy version of your life is surprisingly sweet not raunchy."

The console and controller cords weren't quite long enough for them to play while sitting on the sofa, so Claire put two sofa cushions on the floor. When they sat down to play, Owen thought she looked happier than he'd ever seen her, and this made him happier than he cared to admit.

"Xenia?" he asked teasingly after she selected her character.

"I'm always...Onatopp," she replied with obvious innuendo and a seductive smile. Owen selected James Bond. They both struggled at first to get into the groove of the game. The controllers were different than what Owen was used to, and Claire obviously hadn't played any video games in a while. She was quiet, and he gathered that she didn't want to show weakness - especially after her repeated declarations of being good at the game. Once settled, however, Claire proved to be a worthy opponent. Similar to their game of pool, they didn't try to deliberately distract each other although he was very tempted. Owen mused that Claire had a way of making him feel like a teenager again, which he mostly enjoyed. They went back and forth defeating each other. Losing didn't spoil her mirth.

After Claire returned from a bathroom break, Owen asked, "So, why do you always play Xenia?"

"Aside from her being a total badass femme fatale?" she scoffed, as if it were obvious.

"Who dies a horrible death?"

"A horrible, ironic death with a classic James Bond quip as a send-off."

"Good point."

"I'm...sharp." Her groaned at her pun then moved his leg in her direction to play footsie. It made Claire giggle.

"I think we've both regressed playing this game," he said with a laugh.

"It takes me back," she answered wistfully, "to when I was living vicariously through Xenia as an Air Force pilot."

"You wanted to be a pilot?"

"Like my dad," she admitted sheepishly.

"Why didn't you?" She tapped to one side of her right eye. Owen nodded in understanding.

"Yep," she sighed, "worst day of my life was when the doctor told me I needed glasses."

"They allow pilots now with corrective surgery."

"Ugh," Claire groaned and feigned gagging. "No, thank you. I had a doctor friend in business school who explained LASIK to me...what they actually do to the eyeball. He also told me how the flap..." She paused to shudder. "Can...open, if you're in a car accident and the air bag deploys."

"I know," Owen said smugly. "That's a big risk in combat situations, too. It's why the military does PRK instead." He tapped to one side of his right eye.

"You got it?" she asked with surprise.

"Absolutely," he said proudly. "Paid in full by Uncle Sam...or should I say 'Uncle Sugar'?" They both laughed.

"How is PRK different from LASIK?" she asked hesitantly.

"I don't think you can handle it," he quipped. She rolled her eyes at him. Owen moved close to her and made a rapid slashing motion in front of her eyes as he explained, "In PRK, the doctor scratches off the outer layer of the cornea then laser vaporizes the inner layer."

Claire squirmed and said, "Sounds uncomfortable."

Owen shrugged, "It was free, and now, I don't have to worry about wearing repellant glasses." She scoffed before he took her chin in his hand and brought his lips down to hers. "Thanks for putting your lenses back in," he whispered teasingly. She closed the gap and started kissing him gently but deliberately. He repositioned them so that her back rested against a sofa cushion on the floor. He leaned against her side, supporting himself with one arm while the hand of the other roved her body. Owen slowly brought his hand to her thigh - massaging her nipples erect and tickling around her belly button along the way - and slipped it under the hem of her sweatshorts.

"I like these shorts," he said between kisses. "They give me better access to you." She whimpered when he cupped her mons and started rubbing over her most sensitive area. Claire seemed to melt into the cushion as he continued his ministrations and their tongues danced with each other. Before he went further, Owen tugged on the edge of her panties and looked at her with raised eyebrows. She nodded her consent and closed her eyes. Claire subsequently didn't catch the look of sheer ecstasy on his face when he discovered that she was entirely shaven. Owen slipped two fingers inside her as she moaned. As his thumb rubbed fervently against her clitoris, Claire tensed and gripped his shirt with both hands.

"Owen," she cried out. "This is where I've wanted your skillful hands." Her head rolled from side to side in time with her increasingly shallow breaths. He felt himself getting harder as she responded to his touch. When he brought her to climax, Owen wondered if he would be able to get off the floor. Claire let go of his shirt and relaxed against the cushion. She smiled as her breathing slowed. He sat up and admired her blissful state all the while feeling exceedingly pleased with himself. She gazed at him contentedly before placing her hand on his jeans over his erection.

"Your turn," Claire said seductively. She stood and held out a hand to help him stand. Instead of keeping hold of him and leading them to her bedroom, she dropped his hand and put her sofa cushions back in place. Owen was surprised when she positioned herself with her back to the sofa and started pulling off his t-shirt. After he assisted her in getting the shirt over his head, Claire brought her lips to his. It was a deep but brief kiss followed by her moving her lips to his earlobe, which she sucked and nipped with her teeth. Owen's breathing hitched, and he closed his eyes. He wanted release - as soon as possible. He'd never been the type to barbarically push a woman's head toward his dick, but he was tempted in this instance.

"Have mercy, Claire," he pleaded as her fingers rubbed his nipples. She got the message. Her hands made quick work of his belt buckle and unclasped his jeans. She sat on the sofa in front of him then pulled down his jeans and boxer briefs. Owen gasped loudly as she took him into her mouth and cupped his ass cheeks with her hands. The combination of her sucking him off and kneading his buttocks was exquisite. He lightly gripped her shoulders to steady himself. She was succeeding at being amazing at something else, and Owen doubted he'd be satisfied with just kissing that mouth ever again. She pushed and pulled on his backside to move him in and out of her mouth, revealing the additional talents of her acrobatic tongue and repressed gag reflex. Claire could tell when he was getting close and firmly held his hips, her fingers still lightly massaging his gluteals. When he finally found release, she swallowed without hesitation and brought her hands forward to support his member as it stilled.

"Dear God," he panted through closed eyes, "You win at this." He could tell Claire was smiling as she slowly unsheathed him from her mouth. She reached to pull up his briefs and jeans. Owen was still getting his bearings as she re-buttoned and buckled his pants. When she tugged on his hands, he opened his eyes. She motioned for him to sit next to her. He was incredibly grateful as he was close to falling over.

Claire snuggled into him and remained silent. Owen himself wasn't sure what to say. Were they done for the night? He didn't want to leave - he wanted to do that again - but he didn't want to push her, especially considering how their evening began. He really liked being with her. He reflected on his inner turmoil over the bet and felt incredibly guilty. It was different from the guilt he had about lying to Lowery and Barry. Holding her to him, this guilt was much harder to bear. Owen considered coming clean about the bet right then and there. Claire might take it better in her post-orgasm state and before anything more happened between them. No, he didn't want to ruin the moment. He also worried that nothing more would happen between them if he told her. That thought was even harder to bear than the guilt. He let out a long, audible sigh.

"What is it?" asked Claire with concern. He startled, thinking she had fallen asleep.

"I was thinking about how bad you are at pushing me away," he joked. "I mean, you still shaved."

"Well," she laughed, "I am a lady."

He sniggered, "I don't think most ladies go THAT far."

"You liked that, huh?"

"You're amazing."

"Your dimples are unreal."

"I don't have-" he stopped short. She was giggling, and Owen realized she meant the dimples on his ass. "Those take a lot of work to maintain," he teased.

"It's worth it." She pulled up to kiss him. It was tender and chaste. She was done being sexy for the night. "Are you free Tuesday night?"

"I can be. What were you thinking?"

"Annual shareholders meeting is that evening. I don't know when it'll be done exactly, but I'll be in the mood for a game of pool afterwards."

"Ready for that re-match?" he smirked. "Level playing field this time. No outside cues." She laughed and nodded.

Claire stood up from the sofa and led him to her front door, where Owen pulled her into a deep, passionate kiss.

"What are you doing between now and Tuesday?" he asked somewhat desperately. Since they were now exclusive, couldn't she make more time for him? Maybe it was selfish, but he didn't really care.

"Work and," she grimaced then stammered. "I need to, um, break things off with-"

"Say no more," he interrupted and put his palms up, "I get it. That's very kind of you."

"I am a lady."

"Indeed." Owen kissed the back of her hand. "I'll take my leave of you then," he said in an embellished tone.

"Till Tuesday," she answered with a faint blush on her cheeks. She stood in her doorway as he walked to his bike. He looked back at her gorgeous, still smiling face before he drove off. Owen felt that ache in his chest. It was becoming familiar now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. Let me know what you think of the developments in this sweet and smutty chapter. On reflection, I think this is my favorite chapter of the whole thing.


	8. A Mind Full of Scorpions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MACBETH, Act 3, Scene 2 - “Oh, full of scorpions is my mind, dear wife!”

Owen decided to work at the paddock on Sunday to distract himself from his guilt. Well, he tried to distract himself. The guilt was inescapable. In idle moments, he ruminated on the difficult questions about his relationship with Claire. Now that they were "exclusive," did she consider him to be her "boyfriend"? It did seem early for that particular label. Despite the fact that he usually only dated one woman at a time, he almost never labeled them his "girlfriend." That title held weight and meaning to Owen that he didn't take lightly. He subsequently could count on one hand the number of girlfriends he had in his lifetime. He imagined that at least a handful more women would consider him to be an ex-boyfriend, even if he never felt that strongly about them in return. Owen was especially hesitant to use the label after Sophie Alexander.

Sophie was the last woman he considered to be his girlfriend. They dated for almost two months. While Owen fully recognized that he was in lust with her - she remains the most beautiful woman he's ever seen - she was the first woman who made him consider the possibility of love. Love was something he thought was only for the weak. His mother "loved" his father and used that love to excuse years of spousal abuse. Owen judged both of his parents harshly and barely spoke to them since accepting his ROTC scholarship and moving to Boston - a place he knew they would never visit.

After years of never putting down roots or being open to love, Owen literally bumped into Sophie at Dave & Buster's. She was his dream girl: five foot ten, long wavy golden hair, hourglass figure, a smile that could stop traffic, and a laugh like Marilyn Monroe. She also appeared to him at his lowest moment. It had been a very rough few months with the raptors. Owen was spending most nights on his office sofa. Hoskins told him that they were scouting Barry to assist him. Owen was feeling inadequate, generally. Sophie shined brightly on him, like the long-awaited spring after a lonely Boston winter. Her light and his desperation blinded him (not to mention her being a wildcat in the sack). In hindsight, he knew he missed the signs of her duplicity. At least Owen wasn't the only one, and Derek got it worse.

The night they both showed up at Sophie's apartment - to surprise her - Derek had a ring in his pocket. They had been dating for over three months. The two men wholeheartedly agreed that Sophie planned for them to find out about each other that way. She was too slick to simply have slipped up. She was done with them and delighted in their mutual humiliation. Derek was head over heels in love with her, so it hit him harder. While the two of them made a pact never to speak of her again, Owen often recalled the look of despair on Derek's face that fateful night. It reinforced his negative thoughts about love. It also made Owen feel better about himself. He felt like much less of a loser. It was probably why he commiserated with Derek as long as he did and why he tolerated the man's many faults.

Lowery always saw Derek as a vile snake and was vocal about that to Owen. Owen and Lowery had been friends since the raptor paddock opened, back when Lowery was still doing IT work in the field. Lowery knew about Derek's being a lothario even then. When Sophie stomped on Derek's heart, Lowery told Owen it was karma. Owen just thought Lowery was jealous because he and Derek had started prowling together. After some time, however, Lowery insinuated that he was starting to view his friend in the same, odious light as Derek. It gave Owen pause. That's when he slowed his tempo with Lara, allowing Derek to show his true colors to Owen. Lowery was never smug about it and didn't make Owen feel guilty about his close association with Derek. As Owen struggled with telling Claire about the bet, he knew this was why he couldn't confide in Lowery: he risked losing them both.

Owen wondered what, if anything, Claire would tell people about him at work. Zara and Vivian had been with her for years, but he honestly had no idea if they were friends or confidantes. He guessed "no" to that for Zara based on the condom wrapper incident. Knowing what Lowery told him about Vivian, she might be tighter with Claire. Because of their physical proximity at work, Lowery overheard a lot of what the two of them shared. That is, after all, how Lowery found out about Ronan Keating. Furthermore, Claire would likely feel more comfortable talking about Owen in Lowery's presence given his knowledge of their relationship.

Owen was most concerned about how and when Claire would break things off with Derek. He looked at the clock on his office computer that read 7:03pm. Had it happened already? How would Derek respond? Owen wanted to believe that, if there was no bet, Derek would back off. Unfortunately, Derek couldn't be trusted, regardless. Would Claire tell Derek that there was someone else? If she did, would she describe it as "serious" or "exclusive"? Technically, she'd known Derek for over a decade. Would that make it more or less likely for her to explain the situation to him? She certainly made it seem like having the break-up conversation with Derek was important to her. Why exactly was that? Claire had said almost nothing to Owen about Derek. Was she similarly tight-lipped with the other man?

Besides buying Claire flowers, making her agree to dinner in exchange for borrowing his clubs, and being "all over" her at the gala dinner, Owen had little idea about the character of Derek's relationship with her. Until he saw the hickey on her neck, Owen had convinced himself that she and Derek were just friends. His own arrogance and the fun, personal times he was having with Claire made it hard for Owen to fathom that she was seriously into anyone else. That was trap where Sophie had caught him, stroking his ego into believing that he was special to her.

Owen shook off any comparisons between Claire and Sophie. Claire wanted to be exclusive. Sophie never said that to him. Claire had already shared more of herself with him than Sophie ever did. Claire could also make him feel in a way he never previously imagined. In those moments when she would stop kissing him and just hold on to him, Owen felt powerful and important in the best, most fulfilling way. It was awesome. He was trying to make Claire feel that same way about him when he brought her _Goldeneye_. He refused to believe that he did it to win the bet. There was the rub, however. Owen could never be sure. It made his guilt scald.

Shortly after he went home Sunday evening, Owen's phone rang. It was Derek. Owen knew the other man was not calling to gloat. He steeled himself for the conversation.

"Hello, Derek."

"Hello, Owen."

"Why are you calling?"

"You know why."

"You're violating the rules of engagement."

"As if you haven't," Derek scoffed. "You called me once before, and it wasn't to gloat." Owen had an inkling that his call after discovering the condom wrapper might come back to bite him in the ass. Derek took a deep breath, "You haven't won anything."

"It's not going to end for me once I do." It spilled out compulsively. Owen was surprised by the self-disclosure itself and the arrogance in his tone.

"Oh, really?" Derek said mockingly. "Did I call it, after all? Owen Grady finally settling down?" Owen was silent. He already said too much. Derek started to laugh. "She won't make you happy. You'll understand in time. She's an uptight control freak who will always choose herself over anything and everyone else...just like her father." He placed a jarring emphasis on his last four words. It gave Owen chills.

"You're a terrible person," Owen spat.

"With pride," Derek sneered with self-satisfaction. "But, what - pray tell - does that make you?" He laughed in a way that Owen imagined Satan himself might laugh. Owen seethed. He wondered if this was Derek's game all along, to prove that Owen was no better than him. Derek cleared his throat, "I wasn't expecting sparkling conversation from you this evening. That's definitely not you." There was a long pause. "We won't speak again until this is over...so, good luck." Derek ended the call, and Owen felt blind-sided. He didn't know what Derek's specific goal was for the call but generally understood that the snake wasn't giving up on the bet. He didn't believe what Derek said about Claire and thought it was likely an echo of something Derek's old friend said about her. It was, undoubtedly, an act of mental sabotage and made him worry that Derek might cross the line into acts of physical sabotage. Lowery's warnings about Derek reverberated in Owen's mind.

Owen wanted to warn Claire about Derek but knew that would mean explaining everything to her. He wasn't ready for that. Although Owen fully admitted to the carnal selfishness of not telling her about the bet, it was not that simple. He respected her. She was the first woman he dated who he considered his equal. Beyond that, Owen knew Claire cared about him. She had just broken it off with another guy - who was probably doting and attentive in his wooing her - to date him exclusively. Owen was worth it to her. She wanted to be with him and nurture what they had.

If she found out about the bet, it would never be the same between them. It might hurt her so badly that she'd break it off with him on the spot. He couldn't blame her if she did. If, by some miracle, she didn't end it immediately, wouldn't it only be a matter of time? Could she ever trust him? Owen began to feel like they were doomed anyway, so he should enjoy it while it lasted. She made him feel so good, physically and emotionally. He really could see himself settling down with her. Maybe there was a way out of this mess. Owen needed more time to figure it out.

* * *

On Tuesday evening around seven, Claire texted Owen that the meeting was over. She asked him to stake out the billiards room and get her a double Bombay Sapphire gin. He was already there playing. He was anxious to see her. Too much time apart gave him too much time to think. He craved that mental clarity achieved only in her presence. Owen resumed his game after returning from the bar with her drink and a beer for himself. With his back to the door as he set up a shot, he heard high heels approaching. The designer perfume gave her away when she stopped in the doorway.

"Hi, Soph," Owen said coolly without turning his head.

"I hate being called that," she huffed.

"I know," replied Owen, straightening up to face her. He struggled to appear emotionless. He didn’t want to give her the satisfaction or admit to weakness in himself. Sophie distractedly gazed at her left hand, examining her finely manicured nails, her gaudy engagement ring, or both. She gave him a half-smile.

"Long time, Owen."

"Not long enough." He walked to the far end of the table to set up his next shot. Sophie walked in parallel to him along the opposite side of the table and leaned her back against the wall. Owen remembered the fuchsia skirt and white blouse as one his favorite outfits of hers. The sight of it made him sick now. He leaned on his pool cue and asked pointedly, "What do you want?"

"Reggie's meeting me here," she answered while slowly moving to his side of the table. "I was just at an enormously long and boring meeting run by...your latest." Sophie's near cackle of a laugh made the hairs on Owen's neck stand on end. He toiled mightily to remain as unflinching as possible. She sat on the edge of the pool table a foot away from him and crossed her arms. "I couldn't believe it when Reggie told me. He was howling over you blocking Danny Miller's cock." Owen was not amused. His discomfort in her presence grew with every passing second. "Danny was a fool for thinking he could bag her in the first place." She moved toward him and softly added, "And he knew he couldn't compete with you." Sophie started reaching for his arm. Owen stepped back and firmly grabbed her wrist.

"Don't you dare touch me," he growled. The intensity of his reaction startled him. Owen's eyes widened as he dropped her wrist and stepped further back.

Sophie smirked wickedly, "The boss wouldn't like that, would she?"

"Go wait for Reggie at the bar," he said quietly while turning from her. They both looked to the door at the sound of someone loudly clearing her throat. It was Claire. She glanced quickly toward Owen with confusion then suspiciously stared down Sophie.

"I was just leaving, Claire." She didn't bother to look back at Owen as she sauntered toward the door. Claire was somewhat blocking the other woman's egress, and Sophie leaned into her ear to whisper something before heading to the bar. Claire blushed deeply then looked at Owen with a shocked expression. This made him nervous about having a new reason to hate Sophie. Claire took a deep breath before shutting the door to the billiards room and approaching Owen. She ran her hand down his arm and took his hand.

"Miss me?" she asked with a sweet smile.

"Terribly," Owen relaxed and leaned down to kiss her. When she opened her mouth, he pulled her close. He melted into her and didn't want to let go. He was the one who whimpered when they pulled apart.

"Do you still want to play pool?" asked Claire with a grin of satisfaction. He honestly didn't, but he also didn't think she'd be open to his alternative idea for a blowjob.

"Sure," he said lightly, "We're here."

"Thank you for this," she said before taking a sip of her gin. "I need it after that meeting...and..." Her voice trailed off while her eyes drifted to the door. Owen didn't want to acknowledge or discuss Sophie, but he recognized that Claire had every right to ask.

He sighed, "Go ahead."

She smirked, "So...you were into blondes before me."

Owen rolled his eyes, "Yeah."

"How long ago?"

"Over a year."

Claire nodded and said, "I don't like her."

"You and me both." He was matter-of-fact and without any humor in his tone.

"Well," she laughed, "She just complimented you...albeit very crudely." Claire's affect shifted to one of solemnity as she appreciated his rising agitation. "I'm sorry."

"For what?" He was more defensive than he intended. He sat on the edge of the pool table and looked down. She joined him there and put a hand on his thigh.

"For your hurt and making light of it." They locked eyes. Owen was in awe of her. She wasn't jealous or angry. She genuinely cared about him.

"Sorry for getting upset," he said, putting his arm around her.

"She's a vulgar bitch," Claire mused dismissively. "She and Zara have been fast friends since the night of the gala. She always looks at me in a creepy way...like a viper...even tonight at the meeting." Owen really didn't want to continue this conversation, but it bothered him that Sophie treated Claire poorly, too. "I'll be happy when she and Commander Austin leave the island."

"They're leaving?" he asked with sudden interest.

"Yeah, after they get married on Valentine's Day..." She groaned and feigned gagging. "So cliché. They're transferring to positions with InGen in San Diego." Owen felt relieved that Sophie and her cavalier dickwad of a fiancé would be gone. Reggie routinely made offensive comments about the animals in the park and was known to take obnoxious selfies with sedated animals before transporting them.

"Good riddance to them both," he scoffed.

"Let's play." She stood and picked a cue off the wall with a grimace.

The re-match started in very much the same way as their first game of pool, except that Owen had solids this time around. Claire was so sexy playing pool. He wanted to kiss some part of her body every time they passed each other around the table. He couldn't decide if not touching her was better foreplay than if he was actually in contact with her between shots. He suddenly wished she'd turned the second bedroom in her cottage into a billiards room - Owen yearned for a seamless transition between pool and sex. Similar to their first, he anticipated needing a cold shower after this game, too. Unlike their first, however, he could tell that she was getting hot and bothered. Claire wasn't as focused, and she gave him long, smoldering looks instead of quick, furtive glances.

They matched each other, shot for shot, until they were vying to sink the eight ball. Both of them had lost their concentration by that point without a single touch from the other. Owen was tempted to try to fully throw her off during her third attempt at the eight. It turned out, he didn't need to. She scratched and then pouted, a little too dramatically. He shook his head and sharpened his gaze when he asked, "Did you do that on purpose?"

"Why would I do that?" Claire responded coyly. She walked over to the small table to finish the last bit of her gin and leaned her cue against the wall. After Owen pulled the cue ball out of the pocket and set up his chip shot, she moved to stand next to him. While he was still leaning over the table and just as his cue sprung back in his hands from striking the ball, she slipped her hand into one of the back pockets of his pants and squeezed. He practically seized at her libidinous and long-awaited touch. She was fantastic. He didn't even care that she threw the game. Owen straightened up and twisted his body slowly so as not to jerk her hand out of his pocket. He put an arm around her and grabbed her ass, too. Their faces were almost touching. She inhaled a stuttering breath and whispered, "The door doesn't lock."

"We'll just have to block it then," he whispered back before twirling them and pushing her against the door. Before Owen could take a breath, Claire was pulling his mouth down to hers and wrapping her leg around his. He was in heaven. If only they were at her place. The delicious kissing and dry-humping continued until Owen felt close to making things wet.

"We have to stop," he panted. "I'm going over the edge."

"Good," she said seductively. "I want you to. It'll be your prize for winning the game." He would gladly accept the prize and was pleased that she was eager to do it. "Do you want my hands?" Owen nodded. He preferred her mouth, but he wouldn’t press his luck. He was surprised she was willing to do this in a public place at all. Claire dropped her foot to the floor and they swapped positions so that his back was against the door. She opened his pants and pulled down his boxer briefs just enough to free his erection and work him. He leaned down to plant kisses on her neck for as long as he had the mental wherewithal to do it. Things went hazy just before he came, so he held onto her hips while his eyes rolled back into his head.

"My God, Claire, you are amazing," he was able to get out before he let go. As his orgasm played out, she kept one hand on his dick and the other hand firmly pressed against his chest to minimize his rattling the door. Owen relished her command of the situation. It made him laugh while he caught his breath.

"What?" asked Claire, amidst gingerly putting him back in his briefs and re-fastening his pants.

"I like you in control," he answered with a lascivious smile after opening his eyes.

She raised an eyebrow and tugged on his shirt to pull him flush against her. She brought their mouths close and breathed, "I really enjoy the sense of power." She kissed him forcefully then abruptly pulled away. "I wanted to do that to you the first time we were here."

"I wanted to bend you over the pool table that night...still do." Owen enjoyed this but wasn't comfortable making further overtures in the bar - things could get out of hand fast, and he could hear the crowd on the other side of the door. "We should continue this somewhere more private." He ran one hand through her hair while gently squeezing her ass with the other.

"Not tonight," she sighed and fully pulled away from him. He was disappointed but didn't feel cheated. His body was still buzzing with his orgasm. If anything, he felt bad for not being able to reciprocate.

"When?" asked Owen, unsuccessfully concealing his desperation.

"I'm taking off Saturday, so I'd be all yours...all day."

He pulled her back into his arms. "I think I could come up with something for us to do." When their eyes met, Claire unexpectedly looked vulnerable and unsure. "Hey, what's wrong?"

"Am I really what you want?" she asked hesitantly. He was taken aback and didn't know what to say.

"Of course," he said quickly and with conviction so that she wouldn't interpret his hesitation the wrong way. "Why would you even ask that?"

"I'm not like...Sophie." She looked away from him, and he wondered again what Sophie had whispered to her. He also wondered if Claire somehow knew about Derek and Sophie, and if that was contributing to her insecurity.

Owen took a deep breath and caressed her cheek, "No, you're not. Sophie's ugly on the inside. You're beautiful inside and out." He leaned down to kiss her tenderly. "Plus, Sophie doesn't know Roger Staubach."

"I bet she doesn't shoot either," Claire said with a twinkle in her eye. "Glocks or _Goldeneye_." She winked and took his hand. She was back to normal as Owen led them out of the billiards room and onto the street. He gave her a quick peck before she got into her car. She moped a little - clearly wanting more - and sighed, "Let me know what you want to do Saturday." Owen kept his answer to himself: "You."

* * *

Owen was practically counting the minutes until Saturday. He didn't want to make any specific plans. It would be enough to win the bet. He wanted to move beyond the angst over having sex with Claire. It was a burden. By contrast, spending all day in bed with her would be nirvana. He texted her on Friday afternoon: "Get your beauty rest tonight - you'll need stamina tomorrow." Hours went by without a response. He wasn't nervous but had been hoping for a flirty exchange. Owen remained frustrated until she popped up on his caller ID around 10pm. "At last," he thought to himself.

"I worried you forgot about me," he parroted his teasing words from the night they met at the range. Claire didn't respond immediately. When she did, she sounded like she'd been crying, "I need you."

"Okay."

"Can you come over right now?"

"On my way."

Claire was sitting on her porch when Owen pulled up to her cottage. She stood as he walked briskly towards her. She wasn't crying and looked incredibly happy to see him. Not knowing what was happening with her, he wanted to follow her lead. He resisted the impulse to pick her up and carry her to her bedroom. Claire hugged him tightly and thanked him for coming. She left one arm around him as they walked inside. She opened her fridge and offered him a beer. He retrieved her bottle opener from the drawer to open one for each of them. After Claire took a drink, she finally spoke again.

"I talked to my sister today for the first time in almost a year." This kind of familial detachment wasn't foreign to Owen, so he didn't appear surprised or judgmental. "I've thus far spared you from the Dearing family drama." She let out a sigh, as if reluctant to continue, and leaned against her kitchen counter. "My parents separated when we were living in England. My mom and my sister, Karen, went back to Wisconsin. Karen started college. I stayed with my dad." Claire paused to take a deep breath. "I was always closer to my dad. We were very similar, and he favored me over Karen. My mom favored Karen, and they acted like best friends - more than mother/daughter - a lot of the time. I felt alienated by them. It was a no-brainer for me to stay in England and then go to his next duty station in Biloxi." She crossed her arms and looked down. "They finalized their divorce during my junior year of high school, after my dad accepted orders to Okinawa. The judge sided with my mom in the custody battle. My dad couldn't take me to Okinawa." Owen was glad that she didn't go there. He heard awful stories about sexual assault, child abuse, and alcohol-related incidents from service members who had been stationed in "Oki."

Claire gripped her counter top and looked close to tears. He stood next to her and rubbed her back. She leaned into him. "My mom was terrible to me during my senior year. She never forgave me for choosing my dad over her. She was punishing us both by keeping me in the States. She would say vicious things about my dad. He never said anything bad about her to me. I haven't spoken to her for seven years, ever since she didn't attend his funeral." Claire started to cry.

Owen pulled her close and spoke softly, "I don't talk to my parents...different reasons than you, but I understand." She looked up at him with a sad, knowing smile. He kissed her forehead.

She sniffled as she continued, "Karen always sided...sides with mom. I tried to have a relationship with her for a long time, but it was too hard. She blamed the divorce on my dad completely and still sees my mother as a saint. Karen didn't believe me when I told her what it was like for me, alone in that house with my mom, during senior year."

"Why did you talk to her today?" Owen asked with irritation and defensiveness, on Claire's behalf. He felt angry at Karen and their mother.

"She's getting a divorce!" Claire scoffed and stifled a laugh. "I was nasty to her at first - gave her shit about karma and sarcastically asked if it was all Scott's fault. That's her husband."

"I figured," he smirked. "Good for you. I would've done the same."

"Thanks. Well, it went over like a lead balloon. Karen dissolved into tears over the phone saying things like, 'Whatever happened with us?' and 'I don't want my boys to turn out like us.' I crossed a line and said she must be really worried they're going to choose Scott over her."

"She deserved it," Owen blurted out. Claire smiled and rubbed his chest.

"Maybe, but then she lashed out at me. She repeated things my mom has said to me over the years...about my life choices...relationships...comparing me negatively to my dad."

"Irrelevant shit." He was riled up. If Sophie treating Claire poorly upset him, this treatment by her sister was enough to throw him into a fit of rage. "She shouldn't be taking her failed marriage out on you. Why did she even call you?"

"She wanted something," Claire chuckled viciously. "She wants me to host my nephews at the park some weekend, so they won't be home when Scott moves out."

"Fuck her." Owen acknowledged his jaded views about people and family, and hearing things like this just made him smug about his cynicism. "You don't need to take shit like that from anybody, least of all your sister."

"I like you fired up for me." She leaned in to kiss him. He transferred some of that fire to their embrace. It was definitely a better use of his energy. She was slow and tender not fierce or hungry. If it wasn't already obvious, Claire didn't ask him to come over tonight for sex. Sex wasn't what she needed. She needed him. Owen felt awesome again. She pulled away slightly to ask, "Will you stay with me tonight...to sleep?" She blushed, and it was adorable. He'd never just slept with a woman before they had sex. It was rare that he'd stay the night regardless. He thought it gave women the wrong idea about the depth of his feelings.

"Of course," Owen answered without hesitation. There was no choice tonight - yet another exception he was making for Claire. It wasn't external pressure either. He didn't want to leave her. He wanted to hold and comfort her. He wanted to be what she needed. Maybe that's what he needed, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. Let me know what you thought about the backstory - I thought it was time, for both of them - and stay tuned for "the morning after" :)


	9. The Difference a Day Makes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had the most fun writing this chapter. This one is pretty much all fluff, smut, and giggles - intended to temper the angst.

Owen woke up Saturday morning with an enormous and distracting erection. He and Claire had barely stirred from their positions upon falling asleep. He didn't want to move, for fear of both waking her and losing the blissful sensations brought on by his continued spooning her from behind. He hoped the erection itself didn't wake her.

His mind replayed the events of the night before. Claire must have been talked out from admitting so much to him. She said very little after asking him to stay the night. They made out briefly in her kitchen before retiring to her bedroom. She gave him an unopened toothbrush to use and was very shy about changing into her nightshirt in front of him. Owen was grateful to have showered and changed into clean clothes before she called him. He just took off his jeans and slipped under the covers in his t-shirt and boxers.

He had joked with her about the vanilla-scented lotion that she kept in her nightstand and put on before bed. He offered to do the honors, but Claire blushed and said, "Maybe tomorrow." Owen suspected that would be too erotic for her, and she looked exhausted by that point. They kissed a little more after she joined him under the covers, and he remained surprised by his level of self-control through it all - especially considering how aroused he felt watching her rub the lotion on her legs and décolletage.

Owen was continually surprised by himself when it came to Claire. He couldn't imagine tucking away his libido like that for anyone before her. She was changing him, but it wasn't unwelcome. His respect for her boundaries last night clearly made her happy - she thanked him several times and was very relaxed when they finally went to sleep - and that made him happy. He drifted off reveling in their closeness, on multiple levels. In the morning light and alone with his thoughts as Claire slept beside him, however, his chest was aching. He thought about the bet, and his plan to "win" today.

Before Owen got to her house the night before, he was really horny and hoped she was summoning him for sex. He was ready - five condoms ready - when he arrived at the cottage. After the family revelations and vulnerability she exposed, he was unsure about having sex without telling her about the bet. It occurred to him that she'd be more likely to forgive him for the bet if he told her before winning it. Additionally, Owen himself couldn't be sure of his own motivations if he had sex with her before she knew. Problem was, he was in her bed with unsubtle morning wood, and Claire could wake up any second in the mood for sex. He feared that his self-control would go by the wayside if she so much as put her hands on him. On the flip side, she'd likely be supremely offended if he rebuffed her.

Owen's heart raced as he considered a loophole or way to maintain having a pleasurable Saturday with Claire. He had a sudden vision of himself being thrown out on her porch half-clothed if he told her about the bet this morning. Telling her meant forever changing their relationship. He couldn't do that today. Not after yesterday. It would break her heart. Was he really feeling that powerful? Yes, that is how she made him feel. Would it help matters if he told Derek he'd won? Technically, Owen did sleep with her. He shrugged it off. That would be cheating and wouldn't truly get the monkey off his back.

Just then, Claire moved. Owen closed his eyes momentarily - as if to deny reality for a few more seconds - and felt done for, in one way or another.

"Good morning," she said lazily while rolling to face him. Her smile was glorious. Owen stroked her cheek and wondered how much longer she'd allow him this kind of access to her. He'd just have to make the most of every moment. So, of course, he kissed her. And, of course, she noticed - if she hadn't already. Claire sensually trailed her hand down his back, over his buttocks and forward along his groin before stroking him through his boxers. He took a sharp intake of breath at her touch and couldn't focus on kissing her. "I'm ready, too," she whispered. With the last functioning part of his rational brain, he developed a plan. Well, it was closer to a hunch and a prayer.

Owen groaned, "Claire...I don't have a condom. I was in such a rush to get here...to find out if you were okay." She smiled warmly. It was a good excuse. "Do you have any?"

"No," she replied, blushing furiously. She moved her hand to his bicep. He was immensely relieved that his stall tactic worked and he could formulate his next move.

"Really?" Owen teased. "You disappoint me." She started to laugh and buried her face in his chest. "I figured you for a prepared woman."

"Me?" she scoffed and looked up. "What about you being prepared?"

"I was worried about you last night." She kissed him sweetly and purred. "You sure you don't have a box somewhere around here?" He was playing it up and hoped he wasn't laying it on too thick.

"Owen, geez." She looked incensed. "Condoms wouldn't exactly be a keepsake from a previous relationship, and I wasn't expecting to meet you my first day on the island."

"No shit. That was your actual first day?" Claire bit her lip and nodded. She looked like she wanted to say something but stopped herself. He thought about her saying how she was "so lucky" to meet him, and his guilty conscience threatened to burn a hole in his chest.

A sly smile spread across her face, and she cleared her throat, "Well, we have to do something about this." She started moving her hand down his body again.

"Ah, ah, ah." He shook his head and grabbed her roving hand. "Just a second, Claire. You are next up after you took care of me in the billiards room."

"But, you are literally up!" She was practically pouting over not being able to go down on him first. He felt like the lucky one now. It was also an huge turn-on.

"As much as I appreciate your enthusiasm, I will stay up for you - you don't have to worry about that." Owen grinned mischievously then gently rolled her onto her back. He kissed her and fondled her breasts through her nightshirt.

"Take it off me," she panted. "I don't want it getting in the way of your skillful hands."

"Oh, you're getting much more than my hands." Claire froze. Owen looked at her quizzically.

"You...do that?" she stuttered.

"Yeah. Why wouldn't I?" He was a bit offended by her assertion. She diverted her gaze and swallowed.

"Well...you'd be the first." She still wasn't looking at him. He was stunned speechless and froze himself. She finally turned back to him. "I'm not a virgin," she grimaced, "if that's what you're thinking."

"I'm not thinking that," he countered quickly. "I'm appalled that someone so good at fellatio has been deprived of receiving oral sex."

"First of all," Claire was matter-of-fact, "I like doing that-"

"That makes you different from most," he interrupted. "In fact, I don't think I've ever heard a woman say that. Most just give it to get it."

"You've been with the wrong women."

"You've been with the wrong men."

"Look," she stammered defensively, "I haven't been with that many guys, and all of them told me it wasn't their thing. When you hear that enough times..." Her voice trailed off.

"Claire, I know you to be a woman who goes for what she wants. You didn't insist?"

She glared at him with an arched eyebrow. Owen added with a smirk, "Or withhold?"

She slapped him weakly on his chest and said haughtily, "Withholding would be very unladylike...kind of like spitting." She smiled licentiously. "Now, I insist that you stop talking and otherwise occupy your skillful tongue." Owen did enjoy her taking control. He responded by taking some of his own.

He wrapped his arms around her and pulled them both up to seated positions. He removed his t-shirt first then pulled her nightshirt over her head. Her breasts looked perfect for the size of his hands. Owen cupped one and started massaging the nipple with his thumb while trailing kisses from her neck to the opposite breast. Claire shivered with delight when her took her nipple into his mouth and began to suck. He placed a hand on the small of her back to support her when it seemed like she might collapse. He switched sides and continued working her breasts with his tongue and fingers. She managed to get her fingers through the opening of his boxers, giving him goosebumps as she ran circles around his head.

"Don't tempt me," Owen said with a guttural moan, "unless you have a condom secreted away somewhere."

"Stop your teasing me, then," she answered breathlessly. "I want you to show me what I've been missing." He gripped her wrists and pushed her back onto her pillow. He briefly hovered above her to enjoy the view. He let his tip lightly graze her panties, and she cried out. He muffled her cry by fleetingly crushing his mouth against hers before running his lips between the valley of her breasts and around her belly button. Claire squirmed in anticipation. Owen kneeled to raise her legs in the air and remove her panties. He let her drop one foot back down to the mattress but held fast to the opposite ankle. He massaged the inner aspect of her foot along the arch, giving her goosebumps.

"Owen," she said in a hushed and plaintive tone that was the sexiest way he'd ever heard his name called. He struggled to hold it together while dropping featherlight kisses from her ankle to her inner thigh. By the time he spread her legs apart, Claire was already gripping her top sheet with outstretched arms. She tensed and said his name again in the same tone when opened her with his fingers. His head was spinning. He always got off on doing this to a woman but the exhilaration was immeasurable knowing that he was about to go where no man had gone before with Claire. She gasped and shuddered fiercely when he touched his tongue to her clit. Her communication was reduced to monosyllabic mewls and humming. Her body quivered with rising intensity under the assault by his tongue and fingers. It didn't take long to bring her to climax.

As her orgasm played out, Claire reached for him, ran her fingernails across the top of his scalp, and lightly tugged on his hair. The sensation was outstanding. Owen was seriously tempted to dig out one of his concealed condoms - he so wanted to be inside her. This was usually the point in his seduction when he would be prepping to do just that. He almost didn't know what to do next. She fell back onto her pillow, still panting and catching her breath.

"Owen...oh my God," she said with closed eyes. "I am never letting you leave my house."

"I guess you'll have to go buy condoms then," he teased while pulling up next to her. She laughed then rolled towards him and rested her forehead against his.

"Who needs condoms when you're so good at THAT?" she asked, likely rhetorically, with a contented sigh. "Besides," she added, "I have years of catching up to do." Claire's hand seemed to have magically found its way to his still rock-hard girth. Her fingers were back to teasing his tip. He groaned loudly, and it was her turn to muffle him. She pressed her lips to his and forced him onto his back, maintaining their kiss while she climbed on top of him. Her movements were as smooth and beguiling as her naked and shaven body.

It was torturous not to be fucking her into the mattress. He cursed himself for lying about the condoms and couldn't care less about the repercussions at the moment. After Claire moved her lips and teeth to his nipples, however, Owen decided they could just go down on each other from here to eternity. She continued sliding down his body at a perfect speed, stimulating him with every part of her own - fingers to toes.

When she finally pulled off his boxers and put him in her mouth, he knew he wouldn't be able to draw it out. From her saying that she liked giving head to her relentless tongue, Claire was better than amazing. Owen extended his arms toward her, flush against the sheets and parallel with his sides, in an attempt to relieve the mounting muscle tension. As he prepared to let go, she stretched her own arms forward and placed her hands on his twitching biceps. It looked like she had assumed the yoga position of "child's pose." He was done. Owen supinated his hands to reciprocate her hold on him as he came. He emitted an almost embarrassingly loud and stuttering moan while she swallowed.

Claire slowly sat up, running her hands along his arms until she could entwine their fingers. They kept their hands still and together for a few moments while he recovered from the rush of her incomparable oral skills. She helped to pull him up to a seated position and leaned back on her feet. He held onto her hands and whispered tenderly, "That was masterful." He was in awe of her. She said nothing in return but leaned in to kiss him. It wasn't chaste like their last post-blow job kiss nor was it fierce. The only word that occurred to Owen to describe this kiss was "amorous." They could kiss like this for days, for all he cared. This kiss coupled with the way their arms entangled during his orgasm made him want to worship her. His chest ached in a slightly different way.

Eventually, their kiss was interrupted by mutual stomach rumblings. Clare pulled her lips away and laughed, "Let me make breakfast." Owen fell back on a pillow while she retrieved her panties and nightshirt. He was still wonderstruck when he heard her blender running in the kitchen and finally pulled himself out of bed to get dressed.

"Protein shakes?" Owen asked while putting his arms around her waist from behind and kissing her cheek. He looked curiously over the various ingredients - fruit, seeds, nuts, almond milk, whey powder - splayed across her countertop.

"Yes," answered Claire, turning her head to peck his cheek. "I developed the recipe over time, perfecting the ratio of carbs to protein to fat to maximize satiety and taste."

"You put a lot more organization and planning into this than guys I knew in the service who lived off these."

"I take great pride in my organizational skills." She poured him a glass. "Tell me what you think." Owen hesitated slightly. He was never a fan of meal replacement products, but she looked so excited to share this with him.

"Wow," he said with genuine surprise, "This is actually delicious."

"Told ya," Claire said happily before taking a sip of her own. "It's filling, too - gets you through even the toughest work-outs." Owen really needed to get his head out of the gutter. He was thinking about further bedroom work-outs, but her expression didn't suggest any sexual undertones to her comment.

"Did you have something in mind?" he asked flatly.

She grinned with delight, "BodyPump."

He winced and responded reflexively, "That's a chicks' class."

"Oh, come on," she protested. "There are a few guys who attend at the employee gym."

"Guys who want to get laid," he retorted. Claire laughed out loud and smiled mischievously. He sharpened his gaze, intrigued. "What?"

"Let's go to the gym, and you'll see."

He wrapped his arms back around her and made an exaggerated frown, asking, "What happened to your being all mine, all day?"

"I don't think that and going to the gym are mutually exclusive," she teased. "I want you to maintain your dimples, after all." She playfully slapped his ass.

"Fine," he relented. "I'll go to the gym with you, but I'm not doing BodyPump."

"Aww, give it a chance." Claire stuck out her bottom lip.

"Don't pout," he said dismissively while waving a finger at her. "I went once with my commanding officer at Camp Pendleton. Unlike golf, there was no hobnobbing with general officers or VIPs at BodyPump." This made her giggle. "We'll have to go to my place so I can get my gym bag." She smiled in a way that did have sexual undertones. Owen wondered if she'd expect him to get condoms at home, as well.

* * *

On account of Claire needing to get the the class on time, she rushed to get dressed into her tight-fitting work-out clothes. Owen barely had a chance to enjoy the view before they were racing out her front door. She drove them to his bungalow and encouraged him to be quick about assembling what he needed. He was pleased to have another good excuse not to have condoms. He promised to give her a tour another time, and she smiled appreciatively.

They made it to the small employee gym on time for the class. Owen kissed Claire before she walked into the studio. When she let go of his hand and waved to someone inside, his eyes followed her. He then understood why Claire laughed at his comment about guys who attend BodyPump - he almost keeled over laughing himself. Standing next to the woman greeting Claire was none other than Lowery, who must have heard the laughter and turned his head. Owen pulled it together when Lowery stared back at him. Lowery put his hands on his hips, raised his eyebrows, and tauntingly motioned his head toward the open floor space next to him. Owen crossed his arms and shook his head, still struggling to contain his laughter. His eyes drifted to Claire who had assembled her equipment and was talking animatedly with the brunette who separated her from Lowery. Owen assumed this was Vivian. She looked like Lowery's type. Owen flashed his friend a quick thumb's up before turning toward the weight training machines in the open area of the gym.

Between sets, Owen walked over to the glass studio door to catch a glimpse of Claire and Lowery. They were doing lunges. Claire looked hot. Lowery literally looked hot: red-faced, sweating, and uncomfortable from the exertion.

"She has a great ass," came a familiar voice from behind Owen. He turned and looked angrily at Danny Miller. "I bet she's a fantastic lay."

"Don't talk about her like that," Owen huffed.

"Like what?" Danny scoffed. "How you always talk about women?" He chuckled viciously. Owen glowered at him. "Derek was right. She's got you whipped."

"He's not a reliable source of information on her now, is he?" Owen concealed all emotion.

"You're right, Grady. You got it over on him...and me. Congrats."

Owen laughed, "It's cute that you think you were ever a threat to me." They puffed out their chests at each other ever so slightly. "You're not worth my time, Miller." He returned to finish his work-out without another glance at the trooper.

Owen made his way back to the studio when BodyPump was over. He didn't want to appear whipped, but he more so didn't want to miss giving Lowery a hard time. Claire and Vivian were putting away their equipment, and Lowery was standing next to his barbell, looking winded.

"Hey, man," Owen teased, "Need some help lifting your plates?" Lowery just scowled at him.

"He started with too much weight," Claire said with amusement.

"It's okay, Lowery," Vivian added sympathetically. "Don't be worried about using lighter weights at the beginning. Just work your way up slowly. You'll get there."

"And definitely take the instructor's advice about modifying the weight by muscle group," Claire said while shaking her head and stifling a laugh. Lowery appeared thoroughly embarrassed and turned toward Owen with raised eyebrows in a vain attempt for help saving face.

"Don't look at me," responded Owen, putting up his palms. "I tried this once while I was in the Navy and didn't go back-"

"Too tough for you, right?" Vivian interrupted. She winked at Owen then turned to Lowery with a grin - she was trying to save him.

"Nah, I'm sure this class is just not Owen's speed," Lowery deflected in a self-deprecating tone. "I mean, look at him. I can't weight-train with him." He turned toward Claire and Vivian. "Why do you think I'm with you?" They all laughed. Claire was at Owen's side and linked arms with him. Her initiating this public display of affection made him feel warm inside.

Vivian introduced herself and offered a quick, palms up wave to Owen. "I feel like I know you already between these two." Claire smiled at him with a faint blush on her cheeks. Owen entwined his fingers with hers.

"All good things, I hope," Owen said with mock anxiety.

"Mostly," answered Vivian with a smirk. Claire scoffed and lightly poked the other woman on the arm. "Not from you, Claire."

"Hey," Lowery protested. "What am I saying?"

Owen put a hand on his friend's shoulder and taunted, "I'm sure she's kidding. You wouldn't dare say anything bad about me. Who would you hang out with then?" Lowery rolled his eyes. "Seriously, man, let me help you put away all this shit." Owen pointed to the stack of weights on the floor. He squeezed Claire's hand before letting go to assist Lowery in returning everything to the rack at the back of the studio.

"I am never going to live this down, am I?" Lowery asked dejectedly in a hushed tone.

"Nope," said Owen, biting his lip to suppress his grin.

"Well, it's excellent romantic comedy fodder...for you, too." He elbowed Owen amiably in the ribs. "You two look...sated this morning."

"It's Claire's breakfast protein shakes. Very filling," Owen dead-panned and didn't skip a beat.

"Well," Lowery sighed, "I hope you enjoy a few more 'protein shakes' today. I'll be sore for the next two days - at least - from this class and not from any other physical activities."

"Vivian's cute." Lowery's eyes went wide, and he was silently "shushing" Owen. They walked back to the two women, and Claire immediately took Owen's hand. It was sweetly possessive, and he liked it. They said their goodbyes to Vivian and Lowery, and Owen promised to text his friend about hanging out later in the week.

When they were alone, Owen turned to Claire and asked, "Do you need to hit the showers?"

"God, no," she groaned with disgust. "I do not shower in public places. I always go home for that."

Owen grinned devilishly and whispered, "I hope I'm invited, at least."

"You definitely are," Claire whispered back and stood on her tiptoes to kiss him. As they started to walk out the building, Owen caught Danny Miller peering menacingly at him. He considered giving the trooper a middle finger but imagined that his and Claire's flagrant satisfaction was enough of a display.

* * *

Claire had the most remarkable shower Owen had ever seen. It was large enough for both of them and outfitted with two separate shower heads, copious shelves, and a bench seat. After washing each other, they got each other off manually. Between the steam, the warm spray on his back, and Claire's supple lips and hands, he felt like he was living out a very classy porno - it went above and beyond a raunchy romantic comedy. He hoped to smell like her floral body wash for days in order to keep revisiting the moment in his mind.

As he was toweling off, Owen assured her that he would figure out a safe and comfortable way to go down on each other the next time they showered.

"It's too slippery and dangerous," Claire insisted while wrapping herself in a robe.

"You're too inexperienced to know that," he countered saucily.

"Don't throw it in my face." Owen couldn't tell if she was truly upset or playing. He pulled her into his arms.

"It's a tremendous turn-on, Claire...that I'm the first. Seriously." She wasn't playing. She looked vulnerable, threatened even. It reminded him of her sudden insecurity after their re-match in the billiards room. He needed to reassure her of how much he was into her, but he still couldn't have sex with her - not before he figured things out with the bet. Owen picked her up. "I peeked in on you doing lunges during BodyPump and...damn, you were sexy." He kissed her urgently. She went slack in his arms for a moment then responded in kind with ferocity. He carried her over to her bed without breaking their kiss. "You are a goddess" was the last sentence he could muster before gently tossing her on the mattress to go down on her.

Owen thought there was absolutely no point in putting on clothes. Claire eventually convinced him that they shouldn't watch the sunset on her patio naked. As she sat on his lap in the Adirondack chair, he smiled to himself at how unnatural clothing felt on their bodies against each other. He marveled at his self-control during their afternoon without clothing. He was actually pleased with himself for not winning the bet today and laughed inwardly at the irony. Owen had no idea how to go about moving forward with Claire, so he treasured every second and every sensation. Watching the sunset, hearing nothing but waves crash, and feeling her heartbeat was a sublime combination. He wanted to live in this moment forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I missed Lowery in this story and had to bring him back before things got “heavy.”


	10. Perhaps, Perhaps, Perhaps

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “If you can't make your mind up  
> We'll never get started  
> And I don't wanna wind up  
> Being parted, broken-hearted”

As Owen prepared to finally leave Claire's house late Saturday night, she asked if he would come over again after work on Sunday. She had to record the Packers game due to park obligations and planned to watch it at home in the evening. He said yes without wavering. While driving home, Owen decided to give himself a break from all the rumination about the bet and just be with her.

Owen traded shifts with Barry to free his schedule and spend Saturday with Claire. Sunday morning, he took report from Barry, who commented on Owen looking well.

"Thank you for switching," Owen responded gleefully - he couldn't conceal it.

"I heard you don't have competition anymore," Barry said with a conspiratorial smile.

"It's a relief, but Derek's still talking shit about me. That really burns me because I never gossiped about what happened with Lara. It's just something I told you and Lowery." Owen wanted to both distinguish himself from Derek and further solidify the deeper friendship that he was forming with Barry.

"She clearly made the right choice," Barry spoke quickly then paused and pursed his lips. His brow furrowed. "So, she's been a good thing for you?"

"Without question." There was absolutely no hesitation in Owen's voice. She was a very good thing. As Barry regarded him with a knowing smile, Owen harkened back to their first conversation about Claire at the paddock and their subsequent one at Dave & Buster's. Owen's gaze drifted. He was thinking it was more than very good.

"I'm happy for you, my friend," Barry said quietly. "See you tomorrow."

Owen did not spend his work day distracted or lost in thought. He reveled in the fulfillment and enjoyment he derived from his job. For the first time, however, he detected a shift in his perspective. It was a job. It was not his life, and it didn't define him. Life offered more. That was a new realization, but it wasn't distressing. It surprisingly enriched the day's tasks.

When Claire opened her door to him that night, he kissed her. He did his best to recreate the amorous kiss from the day before. She must've felt it and hugged him tightly after pulling away her lips. Owen was rightly confused - though not disappointed - when she took his hand and led him directly to her bedroom. Unfortunately or fortunately, he was jarred back to reality as Claire switched on a bright light and dropped his hand.

"Here," she said while pulling his clean shirt out of her dresser drawer. "You need to swap these out." She draped the clean one over her shoulder and began unbuttoning the one he was wearing. Owen detected a hint of sexual connotation to her deliberate action and lightly stroked her forearms with his fingertips.

"Excellent control of the situation," he said in a gravelly tone.

"Don't get too excited," she teased, "You're nose blind to the problem I'm trying to fix."

"It didn't seem to bother you the night of the gala." She was pulling his shirt off his shoulders, and he was giving her his best smolder.

She rolled her eyes, "That was earlier in your shift, and we were on YOUR filthy sofa."

"Oh, right," he was only slightly offended and played it off. "That's probably the real reason you threw out that dress."

She shook her head, passed him the clean shirt, and held up his dirty one. "This smell is not the same, tantalizing one you left on my sheets." Claire started to walk out of the room, and he grabbed her hand.

"I'm just training you to distinguish scents like I do with my raptors."

"I'm not one of your animals."

"No. You're so much more." He was trying to maintain a seductive tone, but this came out sweet in light of his epiphany earlier in the day. It made her blush and smile in a way he'd not previously witnessed.

"I had hoped," she said softly while squeezing his hand. Owen put on his clean shirt as she put his dirty one into her washing machine.

He hugged her from behind and whispered, "Can we fast forward through all the commercials, half-time, and...well, the whole game actually?"

"Do you have a better idea for how to spend the next few hours?" There was no mistaking the desire in her tone. She turned around in his arms and started kissing him voraciously. Claire pulled away breathlessly and was almost begging, "I want you inside me. I want you pressed against me as we come together." His hand was on the back of her head, so he pushed her mouth back to his in an effort to temper his anticipated response.

"I want that, too," Owen finally groaned. "It's...just...I forgot condoms again." This was 100% the truth and had nothing consciously to do with the bet. His five ambitious condoms from Friday night were still hidden in a zippered interior pocket of his gym bag that was back at his bungalow. "I'm so sorry." No amount of apologizing could fix this problem. The admission fully broke the spell he'd been casting since she started removing his shirt. Claire closed her eyes and sighed. Owen stopped himself from reassuring her it wasn't a lie, out of fear that she'd then question his honesty for the past two days.

"Let's just watch the game," she said, taking his hand and pulling him to the sofa.

They were both obviously frustrated. The first half of the game was awkward. She still leaned into him as she always did, but he could feel her muscle tension. He was jumpy himself, and they barely said a word to each other. When Miami tied the game at the beginning of the third quarter, Claire let out all of her frustrations at the TV. She was cursing worse than a lot of sailors Owen had known and practically tugging out her hair. He started laughing uncontrollably. It was cathartic. She eventually started laughing, too.

When he was able to calm down, he put his arms around her waist and nuzzled her neck. "It's just one touchdown, Claire." His breathing slowed. "It's not nearly as bad as your boyfriend being a thoughtless idiot." They both froze. Owen couldn't believe what he said. Then, she melted into him and let out a soft moan. He felt her muscle tension dissolve.

After a short silence, she opined, "Well, I don't know if I'd call him my boyfriend, since he hasn't even taken me out on a date." He could tell from her tone that she was teasing, but he imagined there was at least a kernel of truth to her statement. Traditional dates weren't their thing, but they'd been seeing each other for over a month now. Maybe it was time. Maybe that would help his confusion about the bet.

"I don't satisfy you, Claire?" He was largely teasing, too, but there was also curiosity about what exactly she meant as well as some of his own insecurity. She turned and pulled up to kiss him lightly.

"Owen, I'm really happy with you. I can't speak for you, but I feel like we fit into each other's lives well. That's a welcome change for me."

"I feel the same way."

She kissed him again then explained with trepidation, "I do like to go out sometimes, though. I enjoy dressing up in non-work clothes up to look good for myself...and you."

"I'd enjoy seeing you in something like the dress you wore to the gala. I can't promise that you wouldn't have to discard another one, however - keep that in mind when picking your outfit." Owen honestly didn't care what she wore. He found her sexy all the time, regardless of whether she was trying to be. That actually made him feel good and was a welcome change from previous women. "You should know that I don't need that, Claire. I'm happy with you regardless of what we do." He paused to caress her cheek. "If going out is important to you, I'll make it important to me." She snuggled into his side without another word.

They were largely silent for the remainder of the game, but it wasn't awkward. It felt natural. The Packers managed to eke out a win over the Dolphins, so Claire was clearly jazzed up at the end. She crawled into Owen's lap and simply looked at him. He didn't know what to expect. Did she want to fool around? She didn't seem ready to pounce but rather was gazing at him in wide wonder. He could almost hear her heart pounding in her chest. It dawned on him what to say.

"Lucky," whispered Owen, wrapping his arms around her. She nodded weakly with misty eyes before bringing her lips close to his. He bridged the gap.

* * *

Before Owen left her house that night, they discussed plans for getting together multiple times over the next week. It was the first occasion for either of them to lay out a schedule. Claire seemed very eager for this, and Owen wondered if she'd been holding back before - before they defined the relationship. He felt only a twinge of guilt about the bet as he drove home. He concluded that he'd want to be in the same place now with Claire regardless of the bet. The bet didn't force him to use the "boyfriend" label even if it unconsciously made him forget condoms. He did his best to make that up to her before he left, and they both seemed very satisfied by the night's end. He didn't want to disappoint her over the next week and fantasized about the days ahead.

Monday was the night Owen made plans to hang out with Lowery. They started watching the football game but neither of them was invested and switched to playing video games. Lowery was uncharacteristically quiet, and Owen assumed that was related to BodyPump. Owen decided not to tease his friend further about it, but they did talk about work and Lowery's continued attraction to Vivian.

After an awkward pause, Lowery said, "Vivian likes you better than Derek." There was bitterness evident in his voice as he continued, "She and I were both happy to learn that he's out of the picture."

Owen was defensive in response, "I don't know what you expect me to say. I'm not in the habit of discussing other men that my girlfriend WAS seeing - with her or anyone else."

"Girlfriend?" Lowery asked with a grin. "That's a word you haven't used in-"

"Drop it." Owen didn't want Lowery to invoke Sophie's name.

Lowery rolled his eyes, "Fine." He couldn't mask his delight. "I'm happy for you. It's nice to get the scoop from you directly...for once."

Owen relaxed but avoided making eye contact when he answered, "You have greater proximity to her and..." He looked up and stifled a laugh. "You have clearly been put in the friend zone by Vivian."

Lowery groaned loudly, "God, I know it." They laughed then resumed their game play.

When Owen was getting up to leave, Lowery told him with sincerity, "This was fun. I've missed you...too much estrogen around me at work these days."

Owen clapped a hand on his friend's back and teased, "Sorry if I've been neglecting you."

"Nah, I get it." Lowery smiled warmly. "Thanks for not bringing up BodyPump, by the way."

"See you around," Owen said while opening the door, "Just not at BodyPump - too much estrogen there, for sure."

* * *

Owen made good on his promise to Claire about their next shower together. After some resistance and a little fear on her part, she agreed to let him go down on her on the bench seat. She was very contented and a lot more comfortable when she returned the favor. It was similar to the first blow job she gave him while seated on her sofa and felt even more amazing in the steam of her shower.

They couldn't keep their hands off each other after wrapping themselves in towels. Owen wondered if there was a point to the terry cloth. He supposed the towels prevented her sheets from getting sopping wet. They rolled around on her king-size bed for awhile, and then Claire straddled him. She removed her towel before leaning down to kiss him and bringing their bare chests together. It felt fantastic.

"Ready to go again?" he taunted.

"More than ready," she panted. "I'm even...prepared." She moved her eyes to the nightstand. He didn't know if it had been sitting there when he entered her bedroom - his focus had been on getting them both naked and into the shower - but his gaze fixed on a box of condoms. Owen wondered if he should be offended or impressed. He settled on just being thrilled by her desire for him. He rolled them in the direction of the nightstand. The towel fell off his lower half with the movement, and he opened the box of condoms as he straddled her. Claire giggled and laid back with her eyes closed. He was glad she missed the alarmed expression on his face. She may have been ready to go, but he wasn't.

This had never happened to him before. Utter mortification swept over him, and he began to doubt whether he'd be able to push though it tonight. He had a split second to decide whether to ask Claire to assist him. Would that make matters worse? What if it didn't work? Should he just say he was tired? Chicks did that, right?

"Owen," she said in her sexy, plaintive tone. "I want you. Don't make me beg." Her eyes were still closed, and she reached a hand out to his chest. He felt paralyzed and started to sweat. Her tone was light as she mused, "If this is your idea of making it last longer..." She opened her eyes and must've realized what was happening. "Oh...are you okay?"

"Uh...yeah...I'm just really exhausted." He gripped the the condom box with both hands and rambled as Claire started to go cold. "Our exertion in the shower took a lot out of me." That sounded better in his head. He fought a grimace.

"Sure," she replied, the devastation plain on her face. "That's understandable...I guess." She wriggled out from under him and grabbed her towel before wrapping it back around herself and heading in the direction of the bathroom. "I'll just...brush my teeth." She practically slammed the door behind her. Owen was tempted to dress hastily and run out of her house in embarrassment. He took a deep breath and debated saying anything else vs. pretending like nothing happened. He groaned, fell back on the bed, and covered himself with his towel. The terry cloth had a newfound purpose: hiding his shame.

"So," said Claire, not loudly but startling him off the bed nonetheless. She jumped back slightly in response. "Are we still on for tomorrow?"

"Yeah, of course," Owen stammered then composed himself and walked towards her, holding the towel to him. "It's long overdue for you to get a tour of my bungalow."

"Good." She seemed relieved and a little embarrassed herself. She looked at her feet.

"It's not you, Claire." He felt compelled to say it, but it was also true. He hoped it sounded genuine and put a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

"I'll let you get dressed." She avoided eye contact as she picked his gym bag off the floor and placed it on her bed. She offered him a weak, tentative smile before pulling pajamas out of her dresser and ducking back into the bathroom.

He'd never dressed so fast for a woman whose company he enjoyed. He was horrified by what happened but needed to think positively about tomorrow or risk psyching himself out. When she emerged from the bathroom, they were both fully clothed and walked to her front door. Owen kissed her quickly but tenderly and whispered, "Call me tomorrow when you finish." She just nodded and squeezed his hand.

Owen didn't hear from Claire until well after 8pm on Wednesday night. He was beginning to think she wouldn't call, and he couldn't blame her. She apologized and said she'd understand if he wanted to "rain check" his tour. He surmised that she was trying to give him an out in case he wasn't ready to face her. Owen needed to prove himself, however, and told her that he didn't want to wait until Friday to see her again. He already knew that she had a business dinner on Thursday night.

When she pulled up to his place, he was ready to pounce. It was dark, so there wouldn't be an outdoor portion of the tour. The bungalow itself was also much smaller than her cottage. Owen anticipated a brief look-around before they'd get down to business. Claire seemed nervous as she stepped out of her car. Perhaps she was just tired from her long day. He tried to push out of his mind any worries that trying again tonight was a mistake. He confidently put his arm around her and led her inside.

"This is nice," she said in a forced tone. Her expression reminded him of her judgey look in Lowery's kitchen. She smiled when she peered into his bathroom. "Definitely too slippery and dangerous in there."

"It's a good thing I showered before you arrived," Owen answered with a lascivious grin. Within seconds, they were ripping off each other's clothes and falling back onto the bed in their undergarments. Since this would be their first time ever and first time in his bed, he didn't want to rush it. While he tried to take it slow, Claire was aggressive. He would normally find that very sexy, but not being in step with each other threw him off. He pinned her arms to kiss her neck and whispered, "Let's savor this, baby." Claire winced. Owen stifled a groan. He'd never called her "baby" before - he couldn't remember calling anyone that before. He felt himself blushing and had a sudden, irrational fear about inadequate blood flow. This was not good.

He focused on her pleasure to assist in his getting fully aroused. Owen pulled her up so that they were both kneeling on his mattress and then positioned himself behind her. He removed her bra and cupped her breasts. Claire leaned back and started rubbing against him. She massaged his scalp with her fingertips as the tempo of her body movements increased.

"Owen," she moaned, "I am so ready. Do you need my mouth?" He wished she hadn't asked that. It implied a concern that he wasn't ready. He was worried enough himself and didn't need additional anxiety on her part. No, that wasn't fair to her. She was clearly enjoying herself and wanted to make sure it was mutual. This was his issue. She never withheld from him. He was the one withholding from her. And just like that, he lost his erection. Claire likely could tell, so he did everything in his power to make her feel desirable. Owen worshipped her body with his hands and mouth in all the ways a boyfriend should. He hoped to get hard again after going down on her.

It didn't work. He had psyched himself out. After she came, Owen laid next to her - still in his boxers - and pulled the sheet over them both before enveloping her in his arms. If Claire was disappointed, he couldn't tell. She seemed relaxed and happy. It made him feel more guilty about his inability to give her what they both wanted. She ended up falling asleep. He could tell it was real by her breathing pattern, slowed heart rate, and occasional muscle twitches. She was angelic in repose. Of course, his erection returned in that moment. Owen breathed a sigh of relief that there wasn't something seriously wrong with him. He relaxed and basked in her warmth.

He drifted in and out of sleep. His mind was restless. He was haunted by the bet. It had to be the reason for his performance issues. His indecisiveness about telling her was manifesting itself physically. Owen's unconscious mind stopped him from winning. He was pleased to have Thursday and most of Friday to re-group. He hoped to figure out what to do during that time apart. If he didn't come to some sort of conclusion, surely he wouldn't fail for a third time. Claire's eyes eventually fluttered open.

"Your bed is cozy," she said with a yawn.

"That's because you're here," Owen whispered. He kissed her forehead and tightened his hold on her. "I know you'll leave a tantalizing scent behind, too."

"Are you kicking me out already?" He knew she was being sarcastic but worried that she was plotting her escape.

"I could never kick you out of my bed."

She hummed with pleasure and purred, "Say it again." Owen breathed out excitedly. If she was up for it, there was wind in his sails.

"I will...NEVER...kick you out of my bed." Just as he was about to roll on top of her, Claire gasped. It had nothing to do with him. She was looking at her watch.

"It's nearly two," she groaned.

"Stay here," he pleaded while kissing her shoulder. "Call out sick."

"I would love to, but Masrani and several board members are visiting the island tomorrow...uh...today. It is literally the one day I cannot be sick. In fact, I would have to show up even if I was sick." She gave him a quick peck on the lips and pulled away to get dressed. Owen sat up in bed and took solace in the fact that she wasn't leaving on account of his second consecutive failure. As Claire searched for her shoes, he threw on his shirt and pants.

"Are you sure it's safe to be driving back to your cottage at this hour?" he taunted while walking her out to her car.

She laughed, "You should be more concerned about people thinking it's a 'walk of shame.'" He tensed up. Her joke didn't land and triggered thoughts of his own shame. She noticed his reaction and looked regretful. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean-"

"I know," Owen interrupted and averted his eyes.

She took both of his hands in hers, "Thanks for the tour...inside. I look forward to seeing the grounds another day." There was no guile or pity in her eyes. There was genuine warmth and something else, something profound. His chest ached, and he suddenly burned for her. He kissed her fervently. He was truly the lucky one. Owen pulled away to ask, "Your place or mine Friday?"

"Mine, if that's okay."

He nodded and asked nervously, "Can I stay over?"

She blushed, "I had hoped." She kissed him sweetly one last time before getting in her car. As Owen watched her drive off, the guilt returned to the forefront of his mind. It was getting more difficult - not easier - to determine the best course of action with regard to the bet.

Owen couldn't sort out the situation on the his own. He needed to confide in someone. He needed to talk it out. At the end of Thursday's shift at the paddock, he told Barry that he wanted to speak in his office. As if a floodgate opened, Owen cut to the chase as soon as Barry was seated, "Derek Fernandez bet me that he could sleep with Claire Dearing first." He felt relieved to say it out loud. He took a deep breath. Barry was silent and appeared ponderous. He waited for Owen to say more. "I am a complete shit. Our entire relationship is a lie."

Barry squinted slightly, cocked his head to one side, and interjected, "To you. Not to her."

"I know. That makes me feel worse. I feel like a terrible person for accepting the bet in the first place, and now...now-"

"Have you slept with her?" Barry was blunt.

"No. I can't."

Barry scoffed, "You can't?

Owen looked down and said at an increased rate, "Yeah, yeah, I can't perform. I've tried."

"More than once?" Barry was fighting laughter.

"Twice...after a few days of pretending I didn't have a condom." His tone shifted to one of defensiveness. "I can do everything else."

"Understood." Barry smirked then asked with concern in his voice, "So, you don't know what to do?"

"No. The guilt is tearing me up."

"Why can't you just tell her about the bet?"

"Several reasons." He was firm.

"What's number one?"

Owen sighed, "It'll hurt her."

"Good answer. Number two?"

"I'm the best version of myself when I'm with her. It makes why things started all the more horrible." He looked away from Barry. This was hard to admit. He was ashamed of himself for accepting the bet. This shame cut him much deeper than that of a lost erection. "I don't deserve her."

"Those are reasons enough," Barry answered sympathetically. "Are there more?"

"The purely selfish ones."

"Such as?" Barry was baiting him, prompting him to say things out loud that were unsettling in light of the first two reasons.

"If she found out, she could ruin my reputation...and Derek's. Derek then might get revenge on me in God knows what way." This honestly scared Owen. He changed the conversation. "She's phenomenal - all around. I don't want to lose her or how she makes me feel, but I can't keep lying to her. Aside from the big lie, there have been little lies all along the way to cover for things."

"Owen, just tell her you love her."

"I told you I can't keep lying to her," he answered reflexively and with anger.

"Would that be a lie?" Barry looked at him earnestly. Owen could feel his pulse quicken. He had been refusing to entertain this idea since the last time Barry suggested it. Barry groaned and slapped one of his knees. "Damnit, Owen. You can deny it as much as you want, but it's the only reason we're having this conversation." He stood up. "We don't have this type of friendship, except when you're drunk and heartsick." Owen remained silent. He figured that neither confirming nor denying Barry's assertions was for the best. Barry shook his head and sat back down. "Fine. Have it your way. What solution are you considering?"

"Walking away without an explanation."

“That's a terrible idea for several reasons,” Barry sneered mockingly. Owen gestured for him to elaborate. "For starters, it's leaving the door open for her to ask questions. She could seek you out, beg you to take her back-"

"Claire isn't the type to do that."

"But you think she's the type to smear you and Derek, if you were honest with her?" Barry countered shrewdly. When Owen didn't respond, Barry continued his reasons. "You SAY you care so much about not hurting her. Well, abandoning her is the last thing you want to do. She'll likely put it on herself, believe that she didn't deserve you, or...think that you preferred someone more like...Sophie." Owen's eyes went wide. He couldn't remember telling Barry about Sophie. Barry chuckled, "Too drunk to even recall our conversations, huh? I see where I rate."

"Why don't you twist the knife a little more?" Owen seethed. "I'm awful to her. I'm awful to you. I'm just plain awful." Barry waited again, making Owen sweat. "What do you do when there's no way out of a shitty situation?"

Barry rolled his eyes, "If there's no way out, the best thing is to find a way further in." Owen sharpened his gaze and was confused. Barry sighed, "Be the worst version of yourself. Be outwardly awful. If you're lucky, you'll bring out the worst in her, and you won't feel as bad about it." Barry looked down, seemingly defeated. Owen had the distinct impression that the other man was speaking from personal experience. "I don't advocate that course of action. You just wanted to hear something other than what I think is the right thing to do." Barry stood up to leave for real. Before turning to walk away from Owen, he added, "There will be consequences regardless. Only you can decide for yourself which are more...palatable."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. Steel yourselves for more pain.
> 
> Credit to BBC's _Coupling_ , episode "The Melty Man Cometh," for some of the inspiration - and a specific line - to this chapter. The title of this chapter is the theme song to _Coupling_.
> 
> I also modified a line from the movie _The International_ about what to do when there’s no way out...


	11. No Way Out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Even though I've been building to it, this was a terribly difficult chapter to write. I'm ultimately happy with how it sets up the final full chapter and epilogue yet to come. Hopefully, readers will agree...

Claire asked Owen to arrive at seven-thirty on Friday evening. He gave himself time to shower and change at home. He was still considering the options he discussed with Barry the night before. He honestly didn't know which consequences were more acceptable to him. The consequences weren't even cut and dry.

Owen pictured an algorithm in his mind with the possible outcomes. If he told Claire about the the bet, she may or may not forgive him. If she didn't, he'd lose her. If she did, she'd probably never trust him again, and that was as good as losing her. If he exaggerated his bad qualities, she might continue to be amazing - making him feel worse and blemishing only himself in the process - and dump his ass. Alternatively, Barry's prediction could materialize: she could reveal her bad side, and they could both walk away thinking it was the other's fault. Only, would he really feel that way, if he was the one who provoked that outcome? And did he WANT to see her bad side?

The algorithm forced Owen to confront his own assumptions about their relationship. He viewed himself as such a lowlife that Claire was perpetually on a pedestal. It was entirely possible that he was blinded from seeing significant flaws and incompatibilities due to his guilt about the bet. Barry was wrong. Their fine and beautiful relationship was a lie. There was no way for it to continue in its current form. No matter what Owen chose to do, the result would be its disintegration. That was his true struggle: letting go of something he cherished, even if it might be somewhat false.

Claire had texted him that she was leaving her front door unlocked and to let himself in. This made him suspicious, and he was on high alert as he walked through the door. He immediately startled at a loud "pop" and turned to the kitchen. Claire was pouring champagne next to a bowl of strawberries and wearing a short, satin robe. It was such a cliché that Owen almost laughed. This didn't feel like a classy porno. She looked sexy, as usual, but it wasn't natural for her. In fact, she seemed to awkwardly pass him a champagne flute.

"Cheers," she said with a nervous smile. Of course, he knew why she was doing this. Neither of them wanted to say it out loud.

After taking a sip - it was the good stuff - he sniffed and asked, "Have you been raiding my essential oils for the raptors' scent training?" Owen was trying to lighten the mood and continue to avoid the elephant in the room. "Something smells like...neroli and...rose."

Claire practically snorted champagne through her nose. She coughed and said, "Scented candles." She blushed deeply and looked at her feet. He pulled her into his arms.

"I can't get a good hold on you," he teased. "This robe is slippery and dangerous."

"Stop it," she protested meekly. "Don't make me feel more embarrassed."

"Sorry." Owen moved in to kiss her neck but then snapped back. "What did you put on your neck?" It was a pleasing scent. It just wasn't Claire. He suppressed a groan.

"It's called ylang ylang," she stammered. "It's an essential oil...it's in Chanel No. 5 and...supposed to be an aphrodisiac." His eyes went wide.

"Do you have Marvin Gaye's 'Let's Get It On' queued up to play from a hidden speaker, too?" It came out harsher than he meant, but he didn't care. This was too much. He pulled completely back from her and rubbed the bridge of his nose. She crossed her arms in front of her.

"What would you prefer that I do?" Claire asked with significant hurt in her voice. She looked defeated and close to tears.

"Just be you!" He was close to shouting.

"This is me!" She was definitely shouting. "I'm action-oriented and organized. This is how I solve problems."

"It's not a protein shake recipe for you to perfect." He shook his head. "Living things aren't so easily adjusted. I should know. My JOB is to problem-solve animal behavior every day." The arrogance that Owen had largely kept hidden from her had bubbled to the surface.

She sharpened her gaze, "And you think I don't know anything about animal behavior? I RAN DISNEY WORLD!" They were at an impasse and just stood there posturing at each other. Owen was frankly turned on but didn't want to give in, on principle and because of that unnatural scent on her. He most wanted to hose her down in the shower - a further arousing thought - and blow out all the damn candles. He didn't want to talk about his performance problem with her, but he also didn't really want to try to have sex with her tonight.

Owen knew that there would be no going "further in" if they had sex now. If they did, he would either have to tell her about the bet or continue to lie to her. Suddenly, continued lying didn't seem like a bad plan. She'd probably never find out about it from anyone else. Then again, the guilt would probably eat at him to the point that he'd resent her. His head spun. Maybe he could fuck her brains out tonight and tell her about the bet in the morning.

Claire eventually broke the silence. "It's overkill...I went too far," she sighed as her arms dropped to her sides. "I'll get rid of everything and shower off. I understand if you want to leave." Her behavior wasn't helping Owen knock her off that pedestal. As they continued to stare at each other frozen in place, it hit him like a bolt: she loved him. An optimistic, non-guilt ridden person would probably be ecstatic to have that realization, but he was not that person. That realization made him feel worse about himself. He tricked her into loving him. He was not the man she thought he was. He didn't deserve her love.

"Do you want me to leave?" Owen asked cautiously. Whether he stayed should be her choice. It was her house and her heart.

She smiled, "I could never kick you out of my house." She was parroting his own words from the other night, and it was killing him. He just smiled back. As Claire started to turn away from him, he said, "Don't throw away that good champagne. We can drink it after you shower."

"And the strawberries?" she asked with a blush.

"Save those for protein shakes." She laughed before putting the bowl in her fridge and heading into her bedroom.

Owen sat on her sofa and became lost in thought. The realization about Claire's depth of feeling changed his algorithm. He had to reconsider all the possible outcomes. Owen had only been focusing on himself, his feelings, his losing her - maybe he really was a selfish prick. Now, he had to consider breaking her heart. Much like the inevitable disintegration of their current relationship, that was a foregone conclusion regardless. If she loved him, she'd probably forgive him for the bet just like he imagined his own mother forgave his father for abusing her. Owen winced at the comparison between Claire and his mother - and himself and his father - but he was otherwise at a loss. His only other reasonable basis for comparison was Sophie. He shuddered at the thought of her, and it was over a year later. Time had not significantly diminished the sting of her betrayal. Would that also be true for Claire?

To avoid falling into a black hole of tough questions, he quickly finished his first glass of champagne and poured himself another. He was tipsy by the time Claire emerged from her bedroom. She was wearing the same pale green camisole from the night they first met and her sexy sweatshorts. He could've jumped her right there, but she didn't look in the mood.

"Starting without me, huh?" she teased with a tired smile.

"Catch up," he said while handing her a glass.

They ended up finishing two bottles of champagne, in between sharing stories of drunken escapades and interludes of heavy petting. Owen felt light and unburdened. It was the first time in a while that he wasn't bogged down by the guilt. Claire eventually noticed it was 1am, and they both staggered to her bedroom.

"We better take some B12 before going to sleep," she said before disappearing into her bathroom. Owen sat on the edge of her bed and rubbed his temples. "Open your hand," she instructed upon her return. She poured several large tablets into his palm.

"Are these chewable?" he asked, looking at the tablets with confusion.

"Yes," Claire replied with a laugh, "You don't know about chewable B12 for hangovers? I'm surprised it's not a verse of 'What Do You Do With a Drunken Sailor?'"

"I must be really drunk because I think you just tried to show me up nautically." They smiled at each other while chewing the tablets.

"I learned the B12 trick in college," she said after swallowing. "I always keep a bottle around just in case."

"See, I knew you were a prepared woman." He pulled her into his lap and kissed her. "Chalky," he said in mock disgust with a grimace. "B12 tablets are also good deterrents for drunken sex."

"They improve your chances for sober sex the next morning." Her desire burned through her glassy eyes. Owen wanted her, too, but he didn't want to be drunk their first time together. He kissed her forehead and held her tightly.

"Claire," he whispered after a long silence, "If we fall asleep here, I might drop you on the floor."

"Thank you for staying," she whispered back, eyes closed.

They managed to brush their teeth before getting into bed. Claire was quite bossy about it and near-lecturing about oral bacteria. He marveled at her. In his inebriated state, Owen remembered wondering if he would find her to be "wildly alluring." She exceeded that description, and he was spellbound. He couldn't imagine saying "no" to her. He would do anything for her, all she needed to do was ask it.

In the morning light and sober, Owen knew what he needed to do. Consequences regardless. A broken heart regardless. A beautiful thing smashed regardless. He was too cynical to believe that something just as wonderful - or better - could rise from the ashes. They needed a clean break.

He didn't want to disturb Claire's slumber. He'd never leave if she opened her eyes. He comforted himself with the notion that he wouldn't win the bet - as if that somehow made him a better person. No, it was her. She made him a better person. She was not just a mark. She was so captivating to him. Owen hoped that she always would be, no matter what he might provoke in her.

He etched the moment in his mind. It might be the last blissful one of their ill-fated romance. He left a note before stealthily slipping out of her cottage:

"You were right about the B12. I felt fantastic this morning. Sorry to leave for work without saying goodbye. I didn't want to wake you. I'll be at the paddock all-day today and tomorrow if you need me. I want to take you out on a date Tuesday night. Think about what you want to do."

* * *

Owen was minimally communicative with Claire over the next several days. She probably suspected something was wrong, but she didn't call him out. She told him that she wanted to go to the mainland for their date. She'd never spent any significant time there. He acquiesced but wasn't thrilled about the idea. If the date went as poorly as Owen planned, he'd be a long way from home.

By Monday evening, he missed her. They'd been spending so much time together, three days apart seemed like an eternity. He started to second guess his plan but then recited his reasons. He reminded himself that he needed to get used to missing her. This was for the best. Claire called him around 9pm on Monday.

"Hey," Owen answered with cool detachment.

"We need to talk about the ferry schedule," she said in an anxious tone.

"Okay."

"If we take the 6:15 from the island, that should give us enough time in town before the last return ferry."

"Alright."

"So...you'll need to pick me up by 6 to get us to the ferry landing on time."

"How about we just meet at the ferry landing?" He knew this was a dick move, but if they were mad at each other after the date then the ferry ride back was going to be awkward enough without him having to take her home. Claire said nothing in response for almost thirty seconds. Owen wondered if the call had dropped.

"If that's what you think is best." Her voice was like ice and emotionless, but he could tell when it started to crack. "See you tomorrow." She ended the call abruptly. Owen had an urge to call her back immediately to make sure that she was okay. He stopped himself. He developed a queasy feeling in his stomach that didn't resolve by the time he went to sleep.

Claire was sitting behind the wheel of her car when he pulled into the small parking lot for employees near the ferry landing. She stepped out of the Mercedes when he turned off his bike. She looked incredibly nervous and was almost trembling. It was a breezy night, and Claire tightened her grip on the sea foam green shawl at her shoulders. Owen fought the intense desire to wrap his arms around her and kiss her senseless. If he did, they'd never get on that ferry. He simply kissed her cheek, took her hand, and led them to the dock.

They were silent on the walk to the ferry. As they ascended the gangplank, Owen turned to ask, "Inside or outside?"

She stammered in response, "There's a bench in an alcove...top level...near to forward. It would be fairly private...if no one's there yet." He couldn't stop himself from kissing her hand as he led them in that direction.

No one had taken the bench, and it was secluded. He wondered how Claire knew about it. It would've been a great make-out spot, but he wasn't planning on engaging in that kind of arousing activity with her tonight. It would be too much of a mixed message for her and would likely cause Owen to lose his nerve. When they sat down, she let the shawl drop from her shoulders, giving him a better look at her sleeveless, deep purple dress. It was beautiful, especially with her matching teardrop emerald necklace and earring set. Despite her timid demeanor, she was breathtaking. He looked down at his frat boy ensemble of Hawaiian shirt and board shorts. Their outfits clashed to an outrageous degree. Much like the other callous things he did purposefully in the last few days, Claire didn't make a comment or act like it bothered her.

She finally broke the silence by clearing her throat and pulling a piece of paper out of her purse.

"I made an itinerary," she said, obviously straining to sound confident. As she passed him the paper, Owen fought an eye roll. He imagined the itinerary would be akin to all the things she arranged at her apartment to set the mood on Friday night. He couldn't necessarily blame her, however. She was likely just trying to solve another "problem" in their relationship. Claire must've gotten input from other people - he assumed Vivian and Lowery - and had scheduled their every minute, from the 6:15 ferry to the 11pm return boat. It was almost entirely romantic places and walks, save for "pre-dinner drinks" at the sports bar where he'd been several times with Lowery. Thankfully, she left off the nightclub where he sometimes went with Derek.

"This looks good," he said lightly while giving it back to her.

"It's not overkill?" asked Claire, her voice thin and small.

"No." He put his arm around her, pulled her into his side, and planted a kiss on the top of her head. He lied to her yet again. It was definitely overkill, but he understood why. He was bringing out the crazy in her. His heart sank. His plan was working after all.

At the sports bar, Owen ordered two tequila shots with all the trimmings. Claire gave him a deadly look, as if he had gravely insulted her.

"What?" he sniggered sarcastically. "Would the princess rather order her own drink?" She was not amused. "I know what to order here. You obviously picked this place because someone told you I liked it." He was almost sneering, his words dripping with arrogance.

"I was being thoughtful," she snapped. "Try it."

"What's wrong with tequila?"

She appeared solemn for a moment and opened her mouth. Before saying anything, she shook her head and glared at him angrily. "I'm on a diet," Claire said, unconvincingly.

"Well, I have no problem drinking them both if you won't have one." Owen did both shots quickly then turned to her. "Have we fulfilled this item on your itinerary?" He dramatically looked at his watch. "No, I think it's too early to move on to the next event."

"Why are you acting like this? Just be yourself."

"This is me, baby." She looked back at him as if he struck her or wounded her to the core. He softened for a fraction of a second - it was overkill on his part - but he was now past the point of no return. When she couldn't find her words, Owen got in another dig. "Animal behavior can be uncontrollable despite meticulously-crafted schedules."

"Somebody has to take initiative when one person is flaccid," she hissed. It was a commendable, wicked burn.

"Touché, Claire."

"YOU haven't recently been in any condition to clash swords." He could tell that she was fighting a smile. He was even a little turned on and only slightly offended by their _Taming of the Shrew/10 Things I Hate About You_ banter. She eventually sighed, "I think it's time to move on." He couldn't tell if she was referring to her itinerary or their relationship. Ultimately, it didn't matter.

After taking an awkward stroll along the shoreline, they ended up at an intimate restaurant with an ocean view table. Owen assumed that Claire pre-selected the specific table. He had to admit it was a great choice. He wished he could be there to enjoy it rather than spoil it. She looked luminous between the glow of the oil lantern on their table and the moonlight streaming through the window. He would've been bedazzled if not for his malicious intentions.

Claire rambled about work, barely making eye contact with him. She revealed that Masrani postponed his visit until after the holidays but that the chairman of the board came to the park the previous week. The chairman had been particularly critical of her first month in the job.

"You've been here six weeks," Owen interjected. "You don't know everything there is to know." He meant it to be supportive, but it came out haughty and snide.

"I already know that you think I'm inexperienced," she said bitterly. He was confused by her making a reference to her sexual history.

He clarified, "You may have run Disney World, but this is a different world entirely. You can't just turn off the rides and animatronics at the end of the day. Jurassic World is not a place where the entertainment simply removes his costume and goes home to his family after a shift."

"Wow. Thank you so much for man-splaining my job to me. That's very helpful right now." She rolled her eyes and stared him down viciously.

"You need to get used to not having control."

"Oh, is that what you're doing? Teaching me a lesson?"

"We're just talking about work," Owen answered lightly while minimizing his defensiveness. "First date conversation and all that." Claire looked injured once again. He was laying it on a bit thick. Calling this their first date - after he'd initiated calling himself her boyfriend - was a farce. They'd been seeing each other as long as she'd been working at the park. It was, however, psychologically easier for him to cut ties by emphasizing the point.

Her countenance shifted to something sinister that he'd never witnessed before. "You like me in control," she mused knowingly. She was right, even if it bothered him to hear her verbalize it.

They were quiet for most of the meal. As they were finishing their entrees, Claire said, "My sister called me again this weekend." Owen perked up. His gut reaction was the same protective one he felt the first time she told him about her family drama.

"Don't take any of her shit," he said matter-of-fact. She looked at him appreciatively but also sadly. She took a deep breath.

"I'm considering hosting my nephews," she admitted with apparent reluctance.

"Why?"

"I think I should try to mend my relationship with Karen." Owen found himself getting angry while Claire spoke. "She's family, and I don't have a lot of people in my life who I can rely on."

"You can't rely on her, and you have m-" He stopped short and drew a sharp breath. As much as he wanted desperately to be that person for her, he had chosen to change course. No going back. No more lies. No more leading her on. The message was crystal clear now. They stared at each other, faces blank. She broke their eye contact first. When she looked back up at him, there was an unfamiliar fire in her eyes.

"Who is she, Owen?"

"What?" He was gobsmacked.

"Whoever it is that you'd rather fuck than me."

"There's no one else, Claire." He was indignant.

"So, you just don't want to fuck ME?"

"You're right," he growled sarcastically. "I don't want to fuck you." There was an unfortunate hint of truth to his statement, related to both the bet and the sudden aching in his chest, that likely carried through the sarcasm. Claire took a long, stuttering breath then bit her lip. An instant later - or so it seemed to Owen - she was gone. It felt surreal, almost like he was watching it unfold as an outside observer or a soul detached from its body. He yearned to stop her or chase after her, but his body was suspended in place. This is what he wanted, and he got it.

* * *

The morning after the date, Owen felt worse than he had the night before. He told himself it would get easier. Short-term pain for long-term gain. No, that was bullshit. There was nothing to gain, only less to lose. He went to work and pretended that everything was fine. Barry knew. Barry could read it as plainly as if it were written on his face. Owen tried to make work his everything again. Today, at least, that was a futile effort. He wondered if it would ever fulfill him after giving up the "more" he felt with Claire in his life.

Shortly after lunch, he texted Lowery: "Is Claire okay today?" Lowery's response was swift: "I thought she was with you." Owen was taken aback.

"With me?" he typed nervously.

"Yeah," Lowery wrote, "I knew you went to the mainland last night, so when she called out sick today I assumed you were together." The color drained from Owen's face. The weight of his actions threatened to pin him to the ground. He almost dropped his phone. "Are you okay?" Lowery texted after several minutes.

"No," Owen answered. It covered both himself singly and the plural "you" of him and Claire.

"Do you need to talk?" was Lowery's rapid response, which Owen knew came with genuine concern.

"Not today," Owen deflected. "How about Monday Night Football? 'Skins at Cowboys."

"Sure. Call me sooner if you need to." Owen knew he wouldn't even if he needed to. He put his phone in his pocket and looked toward his bike. He briefly contemplated driving to Claire's to explain everything and apologize. He shook it off. He made his bed, now he would lie in it.

Owen spent the rest of his shift trying to achieve a sense of "mission accomplished." He didn't succeed and felt at war with himself. He was no less a victim of the analysis paralysis today than he was before choosing to tank their relationship. Barry came to his office in the early evening.

Owen winced and avoided his gaze, "I hope you didn't come here to gloat."

"No," Barry said sympathetically, "I came here to say that I know what you're going through. It feels like a prison without walls, oui?" Owen looked at him and nodded. "I hope it gets better with time."

Owen scoffed, "That's not very encouraging!"

Barry laughed, "I had the good sense to move to this island, so I didn't have to be around ma chérie anymore. Claire's an ever-present warden of your prison." Owen cracked a smile for the first time all day. Barry spoke seriously, "I envy you for it."

"Why?"

"You'll have an opportunity to redeem yourself. Someday." They nodded to each other, and Barry left. Owen leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. He hoped Barry was right.

Owen attempted to make Monday Night Football as normal as possible. He brought the Guinness and quickly became engrossed in the game. They talked about players' stats and playoff hopes. It was almost halfway through the regular season, after all. Lowery didn't ask him any questions about Claire or tell him anything spontaneously about her. At least, not until halftime. That's when Owen noticed that Lowery seemed eager to say something.

"Spit it out already," Owen sighed.

"Don't act like you're doing me a favor," Lowery huffed then sighed himself. "I wanted to say that I'm glad to have my friend back."

"Oh, geez," Owen groaned. "Enough with the feeling replaced by Claire. She didn't take me away from you."

"No, man. She brought you back." Lowery looked stern, and it unnerved Owen. "You haven't been the same since Sophie. I'm just sorry you had to get hurt again." Owen sunk into the sofa and looked down. Of course, his friend was right about Sophie, so he couldn't let Lowery believe that he was a victim this time around with Claire.

"I screwed it up," Owen admitted. "It's my fault."

"Then fix it!" Lowery appeared full of nervous energy and adjusted his glasses. He was leaping at the chance to advise Owen.

"I can't take back a bad decision I made."

"Explain it to her. She's a reasonable person and really into you - she would light up when she talked about you with Vivian."

"Don't tell me that now."

"You never asked before." Owen rubbed the bridge of his nose. He didn't know how much more he could hear before shutting down. "She's a member of _The Walking Dead_ right now. Joyless and hard nosed. Vivian and I hate it."

"So, you want me to fix it for selfish reasons?"

Lowery rolled his eyes, "My benefit would be a perk. Come on, you two were adorable." Owen didn't want to continue this discussion, and halftime was almost over.

"I did the best I could after painting myself into a corner," Owen said flatly.

"Fine," Lowery relented. "Be cryptic and unhappy. I prefer it to you being an unconscionable louse." Owen glared at him, even though Lowery was right again. Lowery chuckled, "I now have a better understanding of Derek's appeal and the desire to steal his moves. He's smooth. He treats women well...for at least a little bit. I found out about BodyPump because Vivian told me that he used to go with her and Claire."

"What?" Owen exclaimed.

"Yeah. When Claire broke it off with him, I thought I might try that move...on Vivian, of course. It didn't work out well for either of us." Owen wasn't sure where Lowery was going with this, but he was still recovering from the shock of Derek going to BodyPump. "My point is, Derek's moves suck, and nothing beats your _Goldeneye_ move."

"That wasn't a 'move.'" Owen remained proud of that grand gesture in a small box.

"Figure of speech. Look, you were genuinely happy, more so than I'd ever seen you. I don't know what happened last week, but I have a hard time believing it was really bad enough to wipe out that kind of happiness." Lowery dropped it after that, and they focused on the game. The Cowboys tied the score in the fourth quarter, and it went into overtime. Owen's team ended up losing. He saw it as poetic justice. When Lowery "consoled" him over the loss, Owen knew it wasn't really about the game. Likewise, Owen's parting "Thank you" signified a deep appreciation for his friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was initially going to end this chapter with the end of the date, but it was too heartbreaking. I had to temper it with Barry’s support and Lowery’s plea. Please let me know how you think I handled things here.


	12. Falling Slowly

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “And games that never amount  
> To more than they're meant  
> Will play themselves out
> 
> Take this sinking boat and point it home  
> We've still got time  
> Raise your hopeful voice, you have a choice  
> You'll make it now”
> 
> \- Glen Hansgard and Markéta Irglová, _Once_

Owen was drinking a lot of alcohol in the evenings to soothe himself. He couldn't deal with his loneliness and regret any other way. He judged himself harshly for what he'd done to them both. It had been a little over three weeks since the date - twenty-three days exactly because he was counting - but he didn't feel any better about his decision. He rationalized that he might feel the same way if he'd told her about the bet instead. Owen would also tell himself that he was protecting Claire from feeling tricked into loving him.

After one or two drinks, he'd ruminate on how she viewed him now. After three or four drinks, he'd remind himself that she walked out on him. He'd vaguely comprehend that being a cop-out as he drank into oblivion. Owen conceded that he got drunk, in part, to prevent himself from driving to Claire's cottage. He'd also become addicted to B12 tablets. He bought a bottle and, in addition to truly being helpful for hangovers, the taste reminded him of their last kiss. He felt pathetic.

When intoxicated, Owen would inevitably take out Claire's football jersey. She hadn't returned his shirt, so he didn't feel obligated to return hers. He wondered if this meant she was considering patching things up with him. The jersey no longer smelled like her vanilla, but it was still a comfort to him. It helped him to imagine that she kept his shirt as a comfort, too.

On this Thursday night - closer now to twenty-four days after the date - and five shots of tequila down, Owen's phone rang. His eyes were too blurry to read the screen. His heart leapt at the thought that it might be Claire. Every time his phone rang now, he hoped it was her.

"Hello?" answered Owen, trying to sound as upbeat and sober as possible.

"You sound happy to hear from me...or did you think it was someone else calling?" It was Derek or Satan. Their laughter was indistinguishable.

"Why are you calling me?" Owen said with a slur. His brain wasn't fully functional and couldn't maintain the sobriety charade. "It's almost midnight."

"Why do you think I'm calling you?" Derek sounded impatient. The meaning behind the call suddenly dawned on Owen, and he felt completely sober. Sober and crushed. He forgot how to speak. After a long silence, Derek sighed, "I'm not planning to start anything back up again with her. It was a mutually agreed upon, one-time thing." It really bothered Owen to hear Derek speak so flippantly about sleeping with Claire. Sex with Claire had been something he took seriously to a fault. He was glad, at least, that Derek didn't provide additional details about the one-night stand. Owen wasn't planning on asking any questions. Derek eventually added, "Just so you know, she contacted me. I didn't go after her."

"Like shit you didn't," Owen snarled. He could feel bile rising up his throat.

"I swear, Owen. I would've waited at least a month, out of respect for you."

"Fuck you."

"Don't be a sore loser. You had your chance and couldn't seal the deal."

"I chose not to seal the deal."

"Same difference." This conversation was clearly awkward for them both, and Owen was on the verge of ending the call. "We can have a discussion later about how I collect on my prize."

"She was the prize," Owen replied with deep sadness.

Derek scoffed, "That's rich, coming from you. She was nothing more than a mark. If that changed for you, you should've called it off."

Owen was shaking and swallowed hard before asking, "You would've agreed to that?"

"We'll never know, will we?" Derek's voice sounded like nails on a chalkboard to Owen. A tidal wave of emotion threatened to drown him. Owen felt lost at sea. Hanging up on Derek was the last thing he remembered before the world fell away.

* * *

Owen sprang up at the shock of cold water splashing on his face. He gasped for air, and his arms frantically searched for something to grip. He felt his mattress, took a deep breath, and opened his eyes. Barry was standing before him, holding an empty glass in his hand, and shaking his head.

"You're alive, then," Barry snickered.

"Maybe," Owen groaned. He obviously forgot to take the B12 before crawling into bed.

"Were you at a football game last night?" Barry chuckled. Owen looked down and realized that he was wearing the Packers jersey.

"It belongs to Claire," he said sheepishly. Barry nodded and smiled sadly. Owen cleared his throat, "You were right. I love her."

"What finally got you to admit it?" Barry asked without mirth.

"Derek won the bet."

"Merde. You really did succeed in bringing out the worst in her." This comment made Owen squeeze his eyes shut in disgust. When he reopened them, he was closer to crying than he'd been in years.

"I'm a coward, Barry. I've never loved anyone before. It would've been too painful to tell her and have her still leave me. It was easier to just deny it was true and push her away. I lost so much more than a bet." Owen felt a weight lifting off him as he said this aloud. These were thoughts that he'd been trying to bury under bottles of alcohol.

Barry sat down on the bed and put a hand on his shoulder, "Go to her."

"Are you kidding?" Owen sputtered incredulously. "The day after she had a one-night stand with that asshole?"

"Is she damaged goods now?" Barry challenged.

"No, that's not what I meant. The timing is wrong. I don't know where her head's at today." He couldn't imagine what she had been thinking when she contacted Derek. His mind started going a million miles an hour. What pushed her to that point? It burned Owen to know that Claire maintained enough of a positive opinion of Derek to turn back after choosing him. He remembered what Lowery said about Derek having smooth moves. Derek probably treated her well - maybe even better than Owen, especially considering their three weeks of radio silence.

Barry snapped his fingers in front of Owen's face and said sternly, "Réveillez-vous. There will always be an excuse. It will never be the 'right time.' I know this. I have lived it. Then, one day, it's too late."

"I don't know if MY head's in the right place to do it today." Aside from being hungover, Owen wasn't sure if he could stomach seeing Claire so soon after she'd been with Derek. It was frankly humiliating.

"D'accord," Barry said with a nod of understanding.

"Thanks for checking on me."

"You are the boss, and I suspected it was something to do with Claire. That's why I came myself and didn't send a tech."

Owen winced then smirked, "I'm lucky to have you as my second."

"Tell that to Hoskins and get me a pay raise." They laughed. Owen's mind started to drift. Barry sighed, "I'll cover for you today. Get your head straight."

Owen nodded then started thinking aloud, "All this guilt I had about the bet, and now...it's over." He shook his head. "I didn't want to make her just a mark, but that's what she became anyway." He took a deep breath. "She deserves better."

"She deserves the best...version of yourself," Barry reminded him and stood to leave. "I've always been impressed by your fearlessness at the paddock. I know it's not the same, but you love the raptors. You love your work. Apply that same fearlessness to her."

On Friday evening, Owen didn't drink. He drove to Claire's cottage with the jersey. She wasn't home. He decided to leave the jersey on her porch, to let her know that he'd been there. It was hard to give it up, and he almost took it back with him. He didn't feel like he deserved to keep it. Owen was profoundly disgusted with himself. Disgusted that he didn't protect her from Derek, didn't prevent her from being made a mark. Leaving the jersey now also made it more likely that he'd finally tell her about the bet. The timing should be suspicious to her. Hopefully, Claire would contact him. Owen drove home and wondered how long he'd have to wait to hear from her.

Three days went by and nothing. He began to worry that, like the other insensitive things he'd done that Claire didn't acknowledge, the jersey would fall into the same category. Then, Lowery called him late Monday afternoon.

"Get home and stay there," Lowery said with uncharacteristic determination in his voice.

"Why?" Owen asked while descending the steps from the paddock's catwalks.

"Claire just tried to give me a bag of stuff for you. Don't worry. I didn't even look in the bag." Lowery seemed to be overflowing with the same excited energy from their Monday Night Football halftime conversation. "I flat-out refused. I told her to give it to you herself and stormed out of her office. I almost slammed the door, but I thought that would be overly dramatic."

"So...you think she's headed over to my place?"

"Obviously," Lowery scoffed then pleaded, "This is your chance to fix it!"

"Lowery, this isn't a romantic comedy. This is real life."

"It's happening."

Owen was alarmed by Lowery's tone and asked nervously, "Are you being my spy right now?"

"Yes. She just walked out to her car with the bag and looks pissed." Owen frantically looked around for someone to alert about his leaving early. He was still holding the phone to his ear but wasn't saying anything. Lowery eventually asked, "Are you going or what?"

"Yes."

"Awesome. You can thank me later." Lowery sounded more optimistic than Owen felt, but it was nice to have a cheerleader. Lowery ended the call, and Owen found a tech for sign-out.

The route from the raptor paddock to his bungalow included a long straightaway that was a relatively major back road for the island. The winding, dead end dirt path to his bungalow branched from that straightaway. As Owen was on the major road driving in one direction, Claire's Mercedes appeared from the opposite direction. It felt like they were literally playing chicken. His heart raced. He hoped he was ready to face her. Claire reached the turn-off first, so he followed her to his place.

Owen parked his bike next to the driver's side of her car and waited for her to get out. She appeared hesitant. When she finally emerged, she leaned against the door and tightly gripped a canvas bag in front of her. Claire was wearing a black dress that was fit for a funeral.

She avoided making eye contact and asked without any emotion, "Did Lowery call you?"

"Yes," Owen said in the soft voice he used with the raptors to soothe them. His fingertips were tingling, desperately wanting to reach for her. Claire just sighed and passed him the bag, still not looking at him. Owen opened the unexpectedly heavy bag and grimaced. In addition to his shirt, there was the tooth brush he used, the unopened box of condoms, and - breaking his heart - the N64 with _Goldeneye_. He felt sick and embarrassed. She just stood there staring at the ground.

"You could've thrown this stuff away," he said dejectedly.

"No," she answered sadly, finally bringing her eyes to meet his. "I couldn't." Owen saw the pain in her eyes. He wanted to hold her more than ever despite the deepening guilt he felt in the same moment.

"I don't want it back." Owen was specifically referring to the N64 and held out the bag toward her. Her brow furrowed. Her face contorted into a sneer.

"We're done," she said harshly. "You gave back my jersey without so much as a note."

"I was hoping you'd be home," he answered defensively. Claire started to tremble and crossed her arms. Their bodies were so close together. He could almost feel her shaking the tension in the air between them. She walked toward the front of her car and stared in the direction of the lake.

"Three weeks of nothing from you, Owen." Her voice was so cold. "Then, you leave it. The one thing of mine that you had." Her voice cracked. "What was I supposed to think?" He felt like even more of a coward than he did three days ago. His hope that she'd be suspicious about the timing was apparently false. He didn't know where her head was. Owen needed to get her to reveal something he could work with. He didn't want to say anything that might make things worse. He placed the bag on the hood of her car then walked over and stood in her line of sight.

"What DO you think about me, Claire?"

"You think I must be bad in bed," she said matter-of-fact.

"That's ridiculous," he answered with genuine surprise. "Why would I think that?"

"Most recently?" she scoffed. "How about you saying you didn't want to fuck me on our date?" It was a fair point. She sighed, "But there were signs of it all along. Mocking my inexperience. Pulling back from me time and again, blaming it on various things...feeling like a fluffer, Ronan Keating, telling me it was too early to be exclusive." She was angry and started pacing. "Saying I should've insisted on oral sex with past lovers, conveniently not having condoms for a week. Then when you do, I can't get you hard." Claire stopped pacing and faced him with her hands on her hips. "Do you know how degrading that was?"

"How do you think I felt? Do you think that was good for me? If anything, you should think I'm bad in bed."

"I know you're not."

"How would you know?"

"It's what Sophie Alexander whispered to me. That...that you were much better than..." Her voice trailed off. She stopped herself from saying his name, but Owen knew. Of course, that's what that bitch Sophie told her. Claire suddenly looked lost and exhausted. She stated despairingly, "I wasn't worth chasing after." She paused to look him in the eye. "I stood on the sidewalk outside that restaurant for TEN minutes with the vain hope that you'd come out for me. I never felt so humiliated in my life as I did standing there and then riding the ferry back alone." Claire shook her head and was fighting tears. "There was no attraction for you. You were just killing time, waiting for the next leggy blonde, and using me for blow jobs."

His initial reaction to her statement was intense nausea, and then his chest felt holed out with a jagged edged spoon. He never felt so deep an ache. How horrible a person was he? How badly had he screwed this up that the first woman he ever loved thought he had used her for blow jobs? He couldn't let her believe that. Owen needed to convince her otherwise. Lowery was right. He had to fix this somehow. He had to show her.

Owen quickly traversed the space between them and pulled her into his arms. They locked eyes for a moment. Claire looked confused, but her body didn't resist him. He hoped his eyes conveyed the depth of his feeling. He'd never wanted anything so intensely as he did in that moment. He kissed her passionately. She tasted better than he remembered - every sensation was better, heightened. It wasn't just the time apart. This was different in the most phenomenal way. Owen couldn't hold her close enough. He felt her heart pounding in time with his.

He picked her up and carried her toward his bungalow. Claire snuggled into him. Her hot breath on his neck gave him goosebumps. Once inside his small kitchen, Owen pinned her against the wall and resumed kissing her. She roughly forced off his vest, and he tossed it across the floor. It was so hot but also much more. He ran a hand up her leg under her dress and stroked her inner thigh. Her resultant moan was the most gratifying sound he'd ever heard. He slipped his fingers around her panties and inside her. She was already very wet. Owen regained the feeling of power that being with her gave him. He picked her up again and brought her into his bedroom.

As soon as her feet touched the floor, Claire scrambled to unbutton his shirt and push it off his shoulders. She ran her hands over his bare chest and undid his pants. Her desire overwhelmed him. Owen felt himself falling under her spell once more, his love for her deepening with every heaving breath. She stroked his girth through his boxer briefs. Her delirious expression revealed how gratified she felt. She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him fervently. He had missed that acrobatic tongue. Claire pressed against him and ran her nails over his scalp.

Owen desperately wanted to be buried deep inside her but relished every beat. He unzipped her dress and delighted in running his hands all over her smooth, unblemished back. He knew this body so well and never wanted to let it go. After the dress fell to the floor, he quickly removed her bra. He flipped her around to take hold of both her breasts from behind and kiss her neck. All he could smell was Claire and her delicious vanilla. He felt her knees start to buckle as she whimpered into his ear.

Claire took control while he savored the feel of her soft skin against his. She turned around in his arms and slipped her hands underneath the waistband of his boxer-briefs. She squeezed his buttocks before moving her hands forward to encircle his length. Owen groaned in pleasure. He couldn't wait any longer.

"Take them off me," he commanded urgently. She smiled and took her time, trailing kisses down his chest and abdomen. As soon as she pulled down his briefs, he picked her up and laid her on his bed. Owen gave her a taste of her own medicine and slowly made his way down her body toward her panties. She giggled breathily when he tickled around her belly button with one hand. He reached into his nightstand drawer for a condom with his other hand.

Owen removed her panties and positioned himself between her legs before rolling on the latex. She was holding onto his pillow with both hands over her head. Her back was arched in anticipation. Her eyes were closed.

"Look at me, Claire." He was gentle but demanding. He needed her to see how much he wanted this. He needed to erase her doubts about his feelings for her. The moment her eyes flew open and locked onto his, Owen penetrated her. It took all of his remaining willpower to keep his eyes open. He did it for her. For them. He felt like they were peering into each other's souls. With every thrust and tender touch, Owen was attempting to convey all that he previously held back from her, from "I'm sorry" to "I love you." He never before understood sex as giving yourself completely to another. He wondered how he could ever view it otherwise again.

Owen worked to give her what she asked for on the night they were standing next to her washing machine. Their bodies were pressed together. He could let go if he wanted to, but he enjoyed prolonging it and needed to get her to the same point. He knew how to do it. He broke their entrancing eye contact to kiss her neck and move his mouth toward her breasts. His tongue laved each nipple in turn. He lifted her legs to rest on his upper arms and pushed deeper inside her. They both cried out.

Owen could tell from her head movements and the rhythm of her panting that she was close. He reveled in feeling her body twitch and tense around him. Claire's fingers moved everywhere she could reach, and his entire upper body was tingling from her touch. The accumulated sensations were divine. He hoped this wouldn't be the last time he moved within her. He wanted to keep learning new ways to please each other. They knew enough already to not need words. Neither was the pillow talk type. Action was best. The relative silence erotic.

They locked eyes again, and Owen was mildly startled when Claire pleaded, "I want your mouth." He obeyed, crushing his lips to hers as she held him down with an arm across his shoulders. They came together shortly thereafter. He pulsed inside her, and she moaned into his mouth. It was more than amazing. When their orgasms had played themselves out, they continued to breathe heavily while staring into each other's eyes. She was mesmerizing. He didn't want to pull out of her just yet. She grasped his face to kiss him again.

They rolled onto their sides and continued kissing. Claire groaned when Owen slipped out of her. He was deeply satisfied but wanted to go again. It was clear that she did, too. He was already getting hard. He rolled over to dispose of the spent condom and grab another. When he turned back toward her, Claire took the wrapper out of his hand and forced him into the mattress. She hovered above him with the wrapper between her lips. She kept both of her hands on him - pushing him down, rubbing his nipples, tracing the lines of his muscles - as she slowly moved backwards. Claire finished preparing him manually while simultaneously ripping open the wrapper with her teeth.

They didn't break eye contact or utter a single word. It was, by far, the steamiest moment of Owen's life. He closed his eyes in ecstasy when she started putting on the condom. The feel of someone else performing that act was completely foreign and exhilarating. She was the perfect mix of gentle and firm.

"Look at me, Owen." Her words were soft and urgent. He opened his eyes and saw a subtle sadness in hers. He wished he could read her mind. In the absence of telepathy, Owen strove to make Claire feel loved. He possessively held her hips, massaging with his fingertips, and she shuddered at his touch. He kept her steady as she lowered herself onto him. The intensity with which he burned for her threatened to overtake him. When he was fully inside her, Claire gasped and almost fell forward.

Being one with her felt like nothing else he'd ever experienced. This was where he belonged. Owen blocked out everything except how she felt riding him. It was rapturous. He groped her breasts tenderly for stimulation and support. Claire appeared equally enraptured. As she was preparing to let go, she pinned his arms and entwined their fingers. Her face was very close to his, but she didn't kiss him. She was so beautiful. He knew he wouldn't be able to hold out much longer. When she shattered around him, his name escaped her lips in that sexy, plaintive tone he adored. Owen was a goner.

"Claire," he whispered back while he tumbled over the edge. She collapsed onto his chest. He focused on her slowing heartbeat. Nothing else mattered in that moment. It eclipsed the blissful sunset on her patio by a mile. Owen would stay in this moment as long as possible. She was his, and he was hers.

Claire eventually moved to his side and pulled the covers over them both. He put an arm around her and remained silent. Now was not the time to talk, let alone hash out their issues. Owen lulled himself to sleep by counting her breaths and drawing patterns on her silky skin with his fingertips. He was in love with her before they had sex. He was utterly besotted with her now.

Owen woke up with a start. It was dark and quiet. He reached for Claire, but she was gone. Calling out for her would've been futile. She had slipped out just like he did that last Saturday morning before their date. Knowing now how it felt, he deeply regretted doing the same to her. His heart ached. He sat up in bed with the bittersweet recognition that he made love to her. He never just fucked her or made her his mark. If it took Derek winning the bet to achieve that, so be it.

Owen also understood that he loved her unconditionally. He saw her bad side and accepted it. Time would tell if she could do the same. He didn't know when the opportunity would present itself to reveal the truth of the bet and explain his mixed messages to her, but he couldn't shrink from it.

He suddenly noticed his shirt - the one from her canvas bag - folded neatly at the foot of the bed. He picked it up, and nothing fell out. There was no sign of the tooth brush, the condoms, _Goldeneye,_  or the N64. Owen felt relieved and very happy. Claire still appreciated his grand gesture in the small box. He brought the shirt to his nose expecting to smell the fabric softener from the previous time she washed a shirt of his. He was euphoric to discover that it smelled like her and her vanilla instead. Owen had suffered enough. He put on his shirt with a renewed sense of hope and possibility. They still had time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know if this chapter left you satisfied. It's hard for me to let go and end this story - I've enjoyed writing it so much! I will post the Epilogue soon...and the sequel/Postlude shortly after that.
> 
> Also, “Falling Slowly,” the song and its swells - all the feels!


	13. Epilogue - The Prize

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading, giving kudos, and/or commenting on this fic. The support means more than I can adequately express in words. There is a shorter sequel to this story that I’ll start posting soon - it’s very hard for me to let go of these incarnations!

They continued running away from the old visitors' center even though it sounded as if the _Indominus_ was no longer chasing them. Claire's life was flashing before her eyes, specifically her life with Owen. His caring look as he held out his hand to her had triggered something. Try as she might to deny it, she still loved him. She never stopped. She pushed him away and put distance between them, but it hadn't changed how she felt inside. How did he have such a hold on her heart? Claire had warred with herself for months - longer than they'd even been together - but couldn't escape him.

Facing death now, she replayed their entire relationship in her head. Claire had fallen hard and fast for Owen from day one. She hadn't dated anyone seriously for years, but she found herself plunging forward with him - almost impulsively - at breakneck speed. She'd never been so drawn to anyone as she'd been drawn to him. Never felt that anyone was so right for her before. She tried to avoid mistakes from past relationships and stayed acutely aware of his needs. The harsh words of her mother, sister, and exes echoed in her head. Claire made Owen a priority in her life, and her work had suffered. At least, she didn't feel as driven or as focused on it compared to when she was working at Disney.

Her being all-in and relatively neglecting her other obligations made his behaviors on their "first date" even more devastating. Claire felt like the rug had been pulled out from beneath her. She - admittedly unfairly - blamed Owen for her less than stellar work performance. She couldn't shake feeling like she was being punished for letting work come second for the first time in her life. It reinforced her desire to be more like her dad, or how he was viewed by her mother and sister: a narcissist. Owen's rejection seemed to prove them wrong when it came to relationships, too. Her mother had always told her that "blow jobs are how you keep a man." Boy, did that not work out for Claire ever. Karen had been particularly cruel after Claire's last breakup, her five-day fiancé, Evan.

She couldn't stop reliving her other failed relationships after her mainland date with Owen. Claire intellectually knew it was not his fault and never explained it to him, but she had déjà vu in the worst way. Her college boyfriend, Justin, visited her in Philadelphia near the end of her first year at Wharton to break up with her in person. He wore board shorts for the "occasion." Evan and Claire got piss drunk on tequila the night her dad died. She didn't even remember his proposal, let alone accepting it. When he brought her a ring five days later, she refused him. Despite being together for over a year, Claire didn't love him and had no intention of marrying him. Evan treated her so well and had been there for her during her dad’s cancer battle - after her dad set them up in the first place! While her dad still lived, Claire felt that she couldn't break up with Evan. She could barely stand the sight of him after her dad was dead. Her feelings about Evan were not dissimilar to her feelings about Derek Fernandez.

Evan was a dashing and gorgeous Air Force officer with whom she was initially very smitten. Derek was even more dashing and gorgeous because he doted on her, stroked her ego, and didn't seem to have any flaws. He was interested in her despite knowing what happened with Leo in Philadelphia. Claire took ownership of leading on Leo while believing that she and Justin could make the long-distance thing work. It bothered her, however, that Leo revealed that he loved her on the same day Justin broke up with her. When Leo spread the word around campus that she rolled her eyes at his proclamation, Claire didn't really care. She let people believe she was a heartless bitch. She was disappointed in Leo for not being more supportive of her own heartbreak over Justin and had no sympathy for him. That was when Claire lost faith in love.

Owen Grady brought her back to love very quickly. She thought it was pure lust when they first met, but then she read about him and played golf with him. He awakened something inside her that she hadn't experienced since Justin and never felt with Evan. Spending more time with him only reinforced and deepened those feelings. Owen didn't dote on her like Derek. She and Owen felt like equals. Derek pursuing her at the same time highlighted the differences between the two men, pushed her more strongly toward Owen, and gave her more confidence in her interactions with Owen. Claire felt super-charged and sexy like never before.

She had to consciously make an effort not to throw herself at Owen. She honestly would've gone home with him after their first game of pool, if he'd asked. She felt out of control. Claire wore her jersey and glasses when he first came to her house in order to slow herself down. She stopped herself from having sex with him in his office. Impossibly, none of this put him off her. It made him more wonderful to her. They developed the level of intimacy that she craved in a very short period of time and with an unconventional courtship. It was so different a path from her previous relationships, and she surprisingly preferred it.

Claire sometimes worried if she was getting ahead of herself, but she was totally enamored of him and the way he made her feel when they were together. He understood her in ways others couldn't or refused to, and she felt comfortable in a way she never did with anyone before him. It conjured a quote about soulmates that had stuck with her from a sappy, romantic comedy: "Someone with all the right similarities, yet all the right differences; someone to read your mind instinctively, yet cover your weaknesses." She didn't remotely feel that way about Derek.

Claire decided to break it off with Derek even before asking Owen about being exclusive. Despite how good Derek always was to her, she didn't want to lead him on as she had Leo. Derek took it well and was a gentleman, respecting her desire to see where things went with someone else. His response was almost too good to be true and didn't quite seem real. Owen - to that point, at least - always seemed genuine with her. The way he responded to her family revelations solidified her commitment to him. 

As she wore her heart on her sleeve, insecurities about Owen’s commitment intermittently plagued her. Zara commented on the oddness of two of the island's hunkiest and most eligible bachelors simultaneously pursuing Claire immediately upon her arrival. Claire was mostly offended by this assertion, but it seeded doubt in her mind about their intentions toward her. The doubt grew when she learned that both men had previously dated and slept with Sophie Alexander, the living embodiment of a Barbie Doll. While Claire felt profoundly lucky to have found Owen, she sometimes wondered if he just felt lucky to find fresh meat. She didn't always succeed in hiding her doubts from him, but he assuaged them masterfully. She could be terribly hard on herself when they weren't together, wanting to protect her heart in case he decided to drop her one day.

When that one day finally happened, Claire put it all on herself. She misjudged the situation. She made a poor choice in partner. He never felt the same way about her. She was catatonic the following day. She couldn't cry. She couldn't feel anything. Claire lived a shadow life for three solid weeks. She slept in Owen's shirt every night, but it didn't smell like him and provided minimal comfort. She wanted to feel something - anything - again. She called Derek and essentially told him that she wanted to fuck. She'd never done anything like that before. Never had a one-night stand. She was desperate, and Derek had been so sweet to her in the past. Why not? He had a hot body and was a great kisser. She didn't love him, but love got her nowhere anyway. Derek was almost too eager for the hook-up, and Claire would later question this. At the time, however, she was numb.

Claire got her wish. When she slept with Derek, she did feel something again: shame. Derek didn't know what she liked and didn't care to learn. She didn’t come and didn’t bother trying to fake it or encourage him. It was all about his pleasure. The stark contrast with Owen was highlighted yet again. Maybe she was unconsciously trying not to enjoy it. She hated herself afterwards. She judged herself more harshly and felt like she had cheated on Owen. She cried herself to sleep that night and wondered what Owen was doing. Why hadn't he called her? Why wasn't she worth it? What was wrong with her? She felt like a stereotypical, weak woman. That was not what Claire had worked tirelessly to become in life. She blamed Owen, to an extent, for making her feel that way about herself.

She stayed late at work the following day and came home to find the jersey on her porch. She cried again. Claire assumed it meant that Owen was ready to move on. Maybe he already had. If so, she had no room to judge or right to be upset. She'd slept with someone else, too. She vaguely recognized that having been with Derek would make it harder to go back to Owen. She hadn't yet returned his stuff, clinging to the hope that he still wanted her. Holding her jersey that night, she decided it was best to be done with him. That didn't work out exactly as she planned.

"I think she went the other way," Owen said as he stopped to catch his breath. He put a finger to his lips to keep Claire silent. He looked away from her as he focused on the sounds of the jungle. She sat on a nearby tree stump. She wanted more mobility than her skirt allowed. Claire recalled with a blush Owen's ripping a slit in her dress for just that purpose on the night of the gala. She grabbed her skirt, but the fabric wouldn't tear. She huffed loudly and looked up to find Owen gazing back at her with amusement.

"I can help with that," he teased.

She rolled her eyes and sighed, "You made it look so easy." One side of his mouth curled up. She missed that cheeky smile. Claire's heart was pounding and not just from running. He raised his eyebrows as if to ask, "May I?" She nodded her consent. Owen stooped down, put his rifle on the ground, and gripped the hem of her skirt with both hands. He ripped the fabric without difficulty, just as he'd done that night in his office. Claire drew a stuttering breath. One of his hands grazed her thigh, giving her goosebumps. She could tell that he was affected by the contact, too. They both stood quickly. Owen fumbled to pick up the rifle and took a step back from her.

"I'm sorry," Claire stammered. "I should've called...after we made love." She knew it wasn't just sex or a pity fuck. It was indescribably amazing and unbeatable. Her heart, body, and soul still ached for him as they had when she ran away that night. She couldn't run now and started to ramble, "That confused me...scared me. I'd been trying to close the book on us. I didn't think we could get back to where we were...before that date and then...after what I did. I knew things would never be the same. I didn't know what we would be, if anything. I chose not to try. It was cowardly." She paused to clear her throat, straighten her posture, and steel herself to finally tell him her secret. "Owen, I slep-"

"Slept with Derek Fernandez," he said flatly.

"You knew?" she asked with wide eyes. She started to hyperventilate. He took a deep breath and wore a pained expression. She felt alarmed and completely forgot why they were in the jungle together.

"You were a bet," he said earnestly while looking her straight in the eye. "Derek bet me he could sleep with you first, but I fell in love with you. I couldn't go through with it. I hate myself for the bet, for treating you badly, and for not having the courage to tell you about it before now...now that I've almost died several times in one day." He shook his head and looked down. Claire knew he could've won that bet easily. He had innumerable opportunities before she sought Derek. Owen threw the game just as she did during their re-match in the billiards room.

She struggled to find her words and asked the first question that came to mind, "You knew...when we?" He nodded. She was flabbergasted. One of the reasons she didn't call him was her fear of his jealousy. Owen almost couldn't handle the non-threats of Alec's condom wrapper and Ronan Keating. Claire had rationalized that he wouldn't want her after sleeping with Derek, an actual threat. "And you still-"

"Claire, I love you. I never stopped wanting you. I had the same fear, about things never being the same between us, if I told you the truth." They were more perfect for each other than she ever imagined.

Her thoughts and heart started to race. Varied and discordant emotions swept over her. She didn't know whether to be happy or sad. She didn't know whether to kiss him or slap him. His mixed messages and confusing behaviors all started to click together in her head. Then, her anger welled and boiled over.

"Derek told you right away," she fumed. "That's why you left the jersey on my porch, isn't it?"

Owen looked a little frightened and answered nervously, "Yes."

"Are you kidding me?" Claire practically screamed. Her vision blurred. She lunged forward and starting beating her fists against his chest. It was probably not the smartest idea, what with him literally carrying a gun. He just stood there and took it with a dejected look on his face. Of course, he expected her to be angry. She honestly wasn't pounding hard on him - it was more of a symbolic gesture. She pulled back and averted her eyes in embarrassment.

"Do you have any idea the guilt I've been carrying around?" She was ranting and raving. "Guilt about what I did with Derek? Cheapening myself when I had so much more with you? Guilt from believing that if I'd waited just ONE MORE FUCKING DAY to contact him that I would've found the jersey first, and you and I could've gotten back together? The guilt is why I didn't call you...why I couldn't face you...why I thought I had to let you go. Do you know what that's like?"

Owen stiffened and spat back, "Yeah, I do, actually. If we're competing over the level of guilt we have for doing things with Derek Fernandez, I definitely win at that." They locked eyes. He looked so forlorn while invoking the playful words they used to exchange in their early days together. Claire softened and wanted to cry.

"Owen, I never wanted to beat you at anything. I only ever wanted to BE with you." She used the past tense, but it was still true in the present.

He sighed, "I'll understand if you leave me to die out here."

"Owen, I could never-" She was interrupted by her phone ringing. They were jarred back to the reality of the park's emergency. She frowned and looked at the screen. "It's Lowery."

"Take it." He appeared to have re-focused on the task at hand. Their moment was lost. Claire hesitated, and then they both turned their heads at the sound of a helicopter. "We have to move," Owen said with determination. She nodded and held his gaze for a fraction of a second.

In that fraction, time stopped. She flashed back to her chilly interaction with him earlier in the day at his bungalow. She had been a real bitch to him. They both spoke of petty things instead of addressing what was most salient to their relationship. It was a relationship. It was not one date. They were cowards in love but brave in life. They were chasing the most dangerous animal on the planet for her nephews' sake. Claire was suddenly reminded of what she most wanted to emulate in her dad: his pervasive sense of dedication. She needed to apply that dedication to her job, her nephews, and Owen. She would stick it out until the end.

Time started again. Claire accepted Lowery's call and was running after Owen. She kept her eyes - and heart - on the prize.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, now you know what initially inspired this story: the slit that suddenly appeared in Claire’s skirt between the old visitors’ center and the aviary! It bothered me immensely that there was no explanation in the movie or the deleted scenes. The other idea that inspired me was the way Masrani treated Claire. He didn’t seem to know her, despite her important position. 
> 
> I thoroughly enjoyed giving Claire and Owen - Lowery, too - spark and vitality. The fic ended up being much longer than I originally intended because I was having a lot of fun...including writing the angst. Thanks again for reading.


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